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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25226440">Connecting Sutures</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/7PercentSolution/pseuds/7PercentSolution'>7PercentSolution</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_Baillier/pseuds/J_Baillier'>J_Baillier</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>You Go To My Head [19]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes &amp; Related Fandoms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>ADHD, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hospital, Autism Spectrum, Career challenges, Childhood Trauma, Established Relationship, Family Issues, Leadership, M/M, Marriage, Neurodiversity, Psychotherapy, Romance, The medical life, anaesthesiology, jealous!rage!muffin!John, mental health, neurosurgery</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 02:15:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>89,482</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25226440</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/7PercentSolution/pseuds/7PercentSolution, https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_Baillier/pseuds/J_Baillier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When a career opportunity as promising as it is daunting presents itself, Sherlock is disappointed to discover that John is among those sceptical about his suitability. Trying to juggle such a life-altering decision is further complicated by the fact that Sherlock is trying to simultaneously explore whether mending bridges with his mother is possible.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Greg Lestrade &amp; John Watson, John Watson and Edgar Kingsley III, Mycroft Holmes &amp; Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes &amp; Edgar Kingsley III, Sherlock Holmes &amp; Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes &amp; Lady Estelle Wolfson, Sherlock Holmes and Dr Joanna Pichler, Sherlock Holmes and parents - Relationship, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>You Go To My Head [19]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/392395</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>998</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>409</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Collapsed Bridges</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>[<a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25011148">an index and guide to all of J. Baillier's Sherlock stories</a>]</p><p>It continues to amaze and delight how much love these idiot medical husbands continue to enjoy in this fandom. Time to continue where we left off, especially in terms of the developments between Sherlock and his family in <i>Wide Awake</i> and <i>Christmas 2.0</i>. Copious references will be made to prior parts of the series so it goes without saying that new acquaintances of Doctors Holmes and Watson are recommended to start reading from the first part of the series, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/5419364">Grey Matters</a>.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It surprises Sherlock how little anxiety he feels sitting next to his mother in the waiting room of Doctor Pichler's Harley Street clinic. Then again, he has very little to lose in attending this joint session. The next sixty minutes will reveal how much Violet Holmes thinks their relationship is worth. If she refuses to meet him halfway, it will merely confirm his suspicions that it may be a fool's hope that their relationship could improve.</p><p>He has insinuated that it is a condition of their continued association that they attend at least one therapy session together, and it's likely premature optimism to hope that the events of late may have shifted the power dynamic between him and his mother to something a little less uneven. Years of conflict with very entrenched communication patterns have done a lot of damage, and Sherlock harbours no illusions about how long it may take to even survey the carnage, let alone attempt to repair some of it. He is deeply sceptical about how receptive Violet Holmes could be to something that won't echo the advice she was given thirty years ago. Then again, Sherlock has great faith in Dr Joanna Pichler's skills in facilitating discussions into even the most delicate of topics.</p><p>Leaning forward slightly in his chair, he removes his glasses and cleans them with a small cloth he keeps in the breast pocket of his suit jacket.</p><p>Violet, sitting primly to his right, is tutting through an issue of Vanity Fair. She has often voiced her disapproval for the kinds of people she assumes read women's magazines. Perhaps she's partly aware that retirement has effectively turned her into one of those ladies-who-lunch, a person who spends their days getting over-involved in charities and neighbours' lives, and that is why she likes flaunting her academic credentials in conversation whenever possible. Sherlock thinks she sounds like Mycroft when he namedrops pharmaceutical bigwigs who he assumes everyone knows as well as he does. It's obvious to Sherlock where his older brother gets his superciliousness from.</p><p>"Did you have another go at contact lenses?" She asks, putting away the magazine.</p><p>Sherlock opens his jacket buttons; it's warm in the foyer of the small therapy practice. "No. I wouldn't wear them in theatre, anyway, since the microscope can be adjusted to my acuity, and I have prescription surgical loupes for non-microsurgical spinal cases. Regular glasses are fine."</p><p>"Surely, you'd prefer contacts when you're not operating; I know how difficult adjustments are for you. Maybe John could be taught to put the contacts in if you can't manage?"</p><p>"What if one lens falls off in the middle of a workday; what do I do, then? Interrupt one of John's meetings?"</p><p>"Just a suggestion. No need to get so defensive."</p><p>"I'm not defensive. I told you I'm fine with regular glasses; it's you who keeps flogging a dead horse."</p><p>"I hope John doesn't give up as easily as I do when you're being very stubborn."</p><p><em>Easily?!</em> Sherlock opens his mouth to protest, but the appointment room door is opened by Doctor Pichler, whose patient, evaluating gaze sweeps the sight of the two of them.  </p><p>Violet rises to her feet, straightening her back. She may be shorter than both her son and his psychiatrist, but she carries a formidable air which has undoubtedly helped her elbow her way upwards in her career as an economist.</p><p>"Good afternoon, Mrs Holmes," Joanna Pichler says after giving a nod to Sherlock. She offers her hand for Violet to shake.</p><p>"Call me Violet, please."</p><p>Sherlock watches the two women size each other up. There's a restless determination emanating from his mother which has put him on edge ever since his childhood, and her tone does not indicate the eager warmth of someone looking to break the ice. At an early age, he learned to associate the things he is now sensing from his mother with being dragged to doctor and therapist appointments, with endless harassment over the way he behaved or didn't behave. Violet Holmes, née Vernet, had epitomised the Tiger Mother years before the term was even officially coined.</p><p>Sherlock realises that his mother offered no such platitudes as <em>'nice to meet you</em>' to the therapist. As neurotically as she demands such things from him she, too, often forgoes politeness and social conventions when she's been caught off guard or is on edge.</p><p>They've both had a month to prepare for this appointment. What that preparation has or hasn't included for his mother, Sherlock has no idea. He's never been able to read her emotions well, so he has little idea of what she might be thinking right now.</p><p>Violet walks confidently into the appointment room when prompted and commandeers half of the sofa Sherlock usually sits in. He takes a seat beside her, placing a decorative pillow between them which he can grab it if need be and explore its texture with his hands to channel his nervousness in a discreet manner if it needs an outlet. That's not the case yet, not by far. It's strange how this feels like his territory, and as uncomfortable he's often felt discussing himself in this room, today Doctor Pichler feels like his ally.</p><p>The Cambridge-educated Austrian-born psychiatrist offers them tea; Violet declines it for them both before Sherlock gets a word in.</p><p>"I'm glad you could join us, Violet," Pichler says amicably as she arranges herself into her usual chair by her desk. "I'm sure Sherlock is, too."</p><p>"Is he? I don't quite understand the need for all this, or why he would suggest it," Violet says. Her tone is dismissive, a tad sceptical but not confrontational. "I'm relieved that he has taken up therapy again, but I am uncertain as to what that has to do with me."</p><p>Sherlock fixes his gaze on Pichler. What she answers may either upset his mother or put her at ease — or, if she decides to be too cautious, simply prolong the agony of the tension in the room.</p><p>"The purpose of this session — or the first few sessions, if all three of us decide more are warranted — is for us to define our goals together. I do believe the general idea is to provide an opportunity for you and Sherlock to get to know each other better."</p><p>"I know him perfectly well. He's my <em>son</em>," Violet replies a little indignantly. "I have known him for the whole of his life, whereas I understand that your contact only started fairly recently."</p><p>"I've been seeing Doctor Pichler or an off for a few years, now," Sherlock corrects. He has told her this, but of course, she would try to undermine her. In her opinion, nobody else knows how to manage him.</p><p>Pichler picks up her own teacup, blows across the surface. "You have both chosen to include other people in your lives besides just family, and those individuals may have new information, new viewpoints to impart when it comes to Sherlock. A fresh perspective."</p><p>"Of course, I'm aware of all that, but I don't see how that changes anything. I am still his mother; he remains my son. He would be the first to point out that neither role is by choice."</p><p>"Before your children were born, your life was not defined by being their mother. And, now that Sherlock is an adult with his own life, you have many other roles — just as he has many other roles than just that of a son. One thing which Sherlock has expressed a desire in discussing together is a wider view of his life than just a child-parent context."</p><p>"I still don't see why he thinks we need a mediator."</p><p>Sherlock doesn't understand where the depth of her defensiveness comes from. After all, when he'd been underage, Violet had lapped up everything the so-called professionals she dragged him to see without much overt criticism. She had agreed to this meeting after they'd had perhaps the most constructive dialogue of their entire lives when Sherlock had visited at Sussex, but it had just been the two of them alone in her home turf. Now, she is highly defensive and territorial, keen to undermine Pichler's authority. Her expressed approval of the fact that Sherlock is seeing a therapist seems a bit fake. <em>Why does she feel so threatened?</em></p><p>"You say these things, that you know I'm an independent adult, but don't seem to realise that the relationship is supposed to have changed as I grew up," Sherlock points out. "When I visit you and Dad in Sussex, everything is as if I was still five years old. When we saw each other last, I told you that I don't think you're interested or willing to see anything else than all the things in me you have always found so hard to deal with."</p><p>"Is that why I am here? Because you've suddenly decided you know better than me what goes on in my head? Are you going to use this as an opportunity to accuse me of all sorts of things?"</p><p>"No, I––" Sherlock tries, but get interrupted.</p><p>"One thing you told me the last time you saw me is that mothers shouldn't blame themselves for things their children are born with. If that's true, then why do I feel that you have marched me in here like I was some sort of criminal?"</p><p><em>This is going to hell and fast.</em> Sherlock pleads Doctor Pichler with his gaze to interfere.</p><p>She does come to his aid. "I apologise, Violet, if that is your experience so far — it is very much not the intention here. Quite the contrary; this is a safe space, a neutral ground on which to discuss things about which the two of you have found it difficult to communicate before."</p><p>"I have no trouble communicating with him," Violet insists.</p><p>"Sherlock?" Doctor Pichler prompts.</p><p>"I wish I could say the same," he replies. He doesn't continue because inevitably, he would have to state Violet as the reason for their difficulties, and that would not help in trying to de-escalate the situation.</p><p>"My task is to keep this dialogue on a constructive plane," the psychiatrist continues, directing her words at Violet. "You aren't being asked to justify anything you did or didn't do when you were raising him. For Sherlock's sake — for the continuing success of this therapy — it is important to establish ways for the two of you to communicate not just about the past, but also about the present and the future. He asked you to join a session here with me because he thinks your relationship is important to him —important enough to warrant working on so it is more satisfying for you both. Does that sound reasonable to you?"</p><p>Violet still looks unsettled. "He has never accepted any kind of therapeutic help voluntarily — not unless the therapists supported his attempts to push me away."</p><p>"If you're talking about Burgess Hill, then that's really not accurate," Sherlock protests. "They helped me realise I didn't have to let you decide things for me. I was an adult, which you still refuse to accept."</p><p>"Being a legal adult doesn't change who you are," Violet says, and Sherlock loathes her apologetic, pitying tone. "It doesn't change things which can't be fixed."</p><p>"Thankfully, your relationship isn't one of those things," Doctor Pichler cuts in. "At least I hope you both have some optimism in that regard."</p><p>Violet appears hardly mollified, but nods.</p><p>"If I may ask — Violet, when Sherlock was young, did you ever receive counselling for yourself and Mister Holmes when it came to the parenting of a special needs child? I know peer support groups did not exist very widely but were there any kind of counselling made available to you separately from the therapy and support Sherlock received?"</p><p>"We took him mostly to private clinics. We found the best people we could find. None of the therapists wanted us in there with him during the sessions; they said it interfered with his concentration."</p><p>He remembers being left alone with all those therapists. He remembers tearing out of his chair, throwing himself against the door, but there was no leaving the room until the session was done, and the session was only done after the set goals had been reached. More than once, he'd fallen asleep in his chair out of sheer exhaustion brought on by the relentless demands and questions and repetitions of exercises, from crying and screaming himself hoarse. He desperately wanted his Dad but he was never there. If he couldn't go to him he wanted Mummy, but she'd been told not to give in — not to go soft on her son because otherwise, he'd never learn what he needed to learn. <em>'It's for your own good. You'll thank me one day.'</em></p><p>He physically shakes his head to banish those memories and registers that his mother is still speaking.</p><p>"––none of those support groups back then; it was all something people didn't talk about; none of that social media thing that people have these days. It never even occurred to us to ask after anything like that; why would George and I have needed anything on our own? There was nothing wrong with us, we aren't the ones who were…" she trails out before deciding on the word "…neurodiverse? That's what they call it now, but not back then. When he was small, they called things for what they are."</p><p>Sherlock is certain that she wouldn't have hesitated to use words like <em>'autistic</em>' or <em>'disabled'</em> if this discussion had been staged at Sussex, instead. She seems to be very on her guard in these unfamiliar surroundings, and Sherlock suspects that she has worked out that Doctor Pichler's approach will be different to that of the professionals she had consulted in his childhood.</p><p>He recalls well several conversations with the psychiatrist about Violet's stubbornness in accepting that times have changed. Pichler had pointed out that some of Violet's reticence may stem from a dread that she had done things wrong in Sherlock's childhood, and from a fear that she will now be called out and judged on those old things. Sherlock has been highly suspicious of therapists as an adult — fearful, even, to walk into Molly Hooper's office with John. If his career hadn't been threatened, he would never have sought Doctor Pichler's help, because he was afraid that it would be similar to all those horrible sessions he'd forced to attend as a child. He was afraid that people would, once again, tell him that he is all wrong and needs to change.</p><p>He glances covertly at Violet. Is that what she fears, too, right now? As angry as Sherlock is still for many things she has done and said, he can relate to that particular cause for anxiety. He had joined one of John's therapy sessions under the assumption that John would blame him for many things and possibly sever their relationship. It had been so horrid that he had barely lasted five minutes in Molly Hooper's office before needing to retreat from the room.</p><p>"Times have changed for parents with ASD children," Doctor Pichler explains. "I facilitate four support groups for parents of children on the Spectrum and several for the spouses and caretakers of ASD adults. Even with all the support laws now guarantee at school, in the workplace et cetera, it's a hard life even for those loved ones who are healthcare professionals. I'm not saying that it is something we might delve into on our first meeting, but I want to say that this is also an important opportunity for you, Violet, to share things you may want Sherlock to know and understand about being his mother, about the life you've shared. Some worries and difficulties regarding parenting are not good to share with children, but you are both adults, now, and I think Sherlock would be interested in hearing your perspective. Without your input, many things about his childhood remain just assumptions —conjecture, even, when discussed just between him and me."</p><p>"He doesn't want to hear any of it," Violet scoffs. "He thinks he's the only one who had a difficult time."</p><p>"Could you elaborate?" Doctor Pichler crosses one leg on top of another, leaning forward.</p><p>"There's this whole… what happened about a year and a half ago at Christmas… He's been so difficult, lately. I thought things had improved when he and John got together, but then suddenly it was like he was an awkward teenager all over again, stomping about the house, being rude and angry. He acts as though I have suddenly done something terrible, and I cannot for the life of me understand what. At least George's — that's my husband, his father — illness made Sherlock a bit more sensible, but I just don't understand why he'd have sought therapy suddenly after hating the very idea of it for decades. Now, he wants to drag me into it. Is the therapy the reason why he's become so judgmental and awkward? If so, I don't think it is very helpful. You say the purpose of all this is to improve our relationship, but I cannot help but wonder why its deterioration has coincided with this new therapy," Violet points out, eyes fixed on Doctor Pichler.</p><p>"Sherlock?" Pichler asks. "Would you like to explain to Violet what made you contact me?"</p><p>He directs his words at the psychiatrist rather than his mother. "Before Africa, I simply consulted you about how I could train my registrar more efficiently at King's. I had no desire to embark on a formal therapeutic relationship, and that Christmas which was just mentioned wasn't anything new." He draws a breath. "Things being tense between us is not new but it was just too much to bear at the time; I was under a lot of stress, only some of it connected to my parents. I could say that things were better than ever at work after Africa; I felt like I had turned a leaf in dealing with people. One would assume such things would make it easier to deal with other difficulties, but I was as surprised as my mother was when I suddenly found it very hard to put up with the same old patterns in Sussex. And, the…" he stumbles on the explanation, takes a pause to try to find the right words. He's reluctant to mention the mugging which had acted as a catalyst for that Christmas implosion. He already knows she thinks it happened because he was his usual <em>stupid, reckless</em> self, and he doesn't want to hear her nagging on the subject matter yet again.</p><p>Smiling, Doctor Pichler gives him an encouraging nod. "And…?"</p><p>Sherlock exhales and shifts in his seat so that he faces Violet more fully. "You were on my case about the mugging <em>relentlessly</em>. I was disappointed in myself for how I handled things even before we arrived, and you wouldn't let me forget that even for a moment. You used it as an excuse to blame me for everything you thought wasn't all treacly and picture-perfect about that Christmas or <em>any</em> Christmas, ever, because I could never live up to your expectations."</p><p>Even these harsh words are an understatement. Rarely had Sherlock hated himself more than in those days after John had taken him home from Sussex earlier than planned. He had hated himself for letting Violet get to him so badly, for not having acted differently during the mugging, for being who he was. He hadn't hated himself that much since school, because he hadn't fallen from so high a point and so hard for a long time. He had gone from the triumph of their work in Malawi back to feeling like he was six again — the child his mother never hesitated to humiliate in front of even his husband by reminded everyone ever so often how <em>disabled</em> and <em>difficult</em> her son was. Her condescension and venomous pity made him even doubt why John bothered with him — after all, he had needed adults to force other children to play with him. He <em>still</em> hates how easily he can be flung back into feeling like that, and Violet has always been an instantaneous and devastating trigger for it.</p><p>"I was worried about you that Christmas!" Violet exclaims. "John was, too, I could tell."</p><p>Her eyes are fixed on Sherlock, demanding and expectant. He blinks, feeling the old frustration flooding over. "Don't drag John into this," he warns. "He doesn't like having to pick sides, and I'll have you know he will <em>always pick mine</em>."</p><p>Doctor Pichler starts filling all their teacups, perhaps in an attempt to break the tension in the room. "Sherlock sought my help in understanding why he reacted the way he did to the events over that Christmas," she explains amicably. "Not all related matters belong in the realm of what we three might discuss together, but much time during our sessions has been devoted to discussing his childhood and how he sees his relationships with family members. We agreed that there is a need for change there, and my purpose is to help you both achieve that. It requires effort from both parties involved to change a relationship, and I believe Sherlock is ready to do his bit."</p><p>"Well, I do wish he had been so willing that Christmas. We'd all have been spared of much hardship," Violet declares bitterly.</p><p>Sherlock takes a deep breath, reminding himself that allowing her to provoke him is only going to lead to a repeat of every family assembly in the last fifteen years: he gets too angry not to react, and she treats him like a child in response. If she is to take him seriously as an adult, he needs to act the part.</p><p>Violet laces her fingers, arranges her hands primly on her knees. She has dressed the part of a former university professor: a dove-grey knitted skirt with a houndstooth pattern, white blouse, and a black jacket. "I didn't think our relationship was very bad. That's just the way boys are, isn't it — they don't stay close to home as adults, do they? They drift away."</p><p><em>There's always an excuse, isn't there?</em> Sherlock wonders. <em>She has always thought that I do things wrong because I'm autistic; now, it's also because I'm male</em>. "So, it's never you, is it? You're the patron saint of good parenting, the perfect mother. A bloody Saint Mary."</p><p>"<em>William!</em>" Violet berates, eyes widened. "I must apologise," she fusses, directing her words almost conspiratorially to Doctor Pichler. "When he gets worked up, he can become quite rude and hurtful."</p><p>"Perhaps, instead of making generalisations, we might ask <em>Sherlock</em> to explain why he was so frustrated just now," the psychiatrist suggests.</p><p>Sherlock can tell she is taking care to be particularly diplomatic, yet subtly resisting his mother's dismissal of his feelings — and his name. "You must have selectively forgot that I didn't drift away; I <em>ran</em> away when I was eighteen, and you've never accepted or even asked about the reasons, perhaps because you knew you wouldn't like the truth. You decided that I was to study chemistry. I didn't want that. You decided that Victor wasn't good for me. I didn't agree. You thought medicine as a profession for me would be a disaster — I felt differently. You made it clear that nothing I thought mattered. No wonder I left."</p><p>Violet sits up ramrod straight on the couch. Sherlock thinks she couldn't look more dismissive and defensive even if she was wearing chainmail and a close helm with the visor down.</p><p>"I rather think that your little rebellion of running away to London has been given ample attention," Violet trivialises. "Through the guidance you never appreciated, I tried to spare you from failure and embarrassment, and from ending up precisely where you <em>did</em> end up with that Trevor boy."</p><p>"You never ask why."</p><p>"Why what?"</p><p>"For instance, <em>'why do you want to study medicine, Sherlock?</em>' You never ask those kinds of questions. You never ask why I do certain things, why I need certain things, why John chose to spend the rest of his life with me — and don't you <em>dare</em> suggest it's just because I'm his charity case. You never ask whether I actually enjoy my work, what things I want out of life and if I have obtained them." <em>And you have never asked how you could help me with any of it. You just assumed you always knew better.</em></p><p>"There is nothing preventing you from telling me those things. Instead, when you can be bothered to talk, you snap at me, sulk, pick fights and then refuse to answer my phone calls. That's where you should start if you want to be treated like an adult."</p><p>Doctor Pichler's mouth tightens just a little, and she leans slightly forward. "Mrs Holmes," she says sternly but politely. "In my work, I like to hold on to the principle that my patients who are of age and have full autonomy deserve to be treated as adults by default. I like to think it's respectful, and respect for my patients is what I feel helps them feel comfortable about telling me things. Wouldn't you agree?"</p><p>"He disrespects me. You should have heard the way he speaks to me. Just terrible. It's not how a son should talk to his mother."</p><p>"I will readily admit to losing my temper around you," Sherlock says dryly. "It's one of those things where you might ask <em>why</em>."</p><p>"If we focus on making a tally on who has said what and to whom and when, that's all we'll be doing," Pichler points out. "Instead of just venting feelings, we need to examine what creates them. This room is a new start, a new situation, a new place in which to have a different dialogue. It's understandable that hurtful things which have led us here would come up, but it's a good idea to do just as Sherlock has suggested: looking at the needs and motives behind the words."</p><p>Sherlock is tempted to remind his mother that they're here because <em>he</em> has been lenient enough to decide that he wants to try this with her. He could have just as well deleted her from his life for good. <em>I don't need her for anything, do I? I have John. I have other people. But I wouldn't want to push Dad away because the two of them come as a package deal.</em></p><p>"We're here under the assumption that both your lives might benefit from each other's involvement in it," Pichler says gently. "Isn't that right, Sherlock?"</p><p>"I want to try," he says quietly. "I've certainly not enjoyed the way things have been between us."</p><p>The anger seems to evaporate from Violet, tension drain out of her shoulder. "Of course, we must try."</p><p>"Don't say it like it's obvious," Sherlock snaps. "We wouldn't be here that were the case. It wasn't obvious to me. I thought it didn't matter that I couldn't talk to you; I thought that feeling like I was talking to a brick wall was just something I deserved. The fact that I suddenly couldn't just shrug it off but couldn't just walk away either made it clear to me that we have to try something different."</p><p>"How does that make you feel, Violet?" Doctor Pichler asks, leaning her head slightly to her right shoulder — perhaps to appear tentatively curious in a way that isn't too intrusive. "Hearing him say that it's important for him to have a better relationship with you?"</p><p>"It doesn't feel very good that he thinks it's so hard to talk to me. I'm his mother. I've always been there for him. Why can't he talk to me?"</p><p>"According to you, I talk <em>at</em> you, and you think everything I say comes from being autistic, disobedient, or helpless. John doesn't think like that. He just <em>listens</em>."</p><p>"What should I have supposedly listened to recently? What do you think I haven't heard?"</p><p>"Did you really understand what I was saying about those old photo albums of yours and why I wanted to make you a different one? Or why I asked you to watch that documentary with me?"</p><p>"Your father loves that new photo album you brought us," Violet replies. "It's very important to him."</p><p>Sherlock notes that she hasn't said that it was important for <em>her</em>. "Doctor Pichler helped me select the images. She has been very helpful, and she was the one who insisted that I shouldn't make hasty decisions regarding, well, <em>you</em>. Not when things were… still a bit not good after that Christmas and Dad's cancer."</p><p>"Do you enjoy that photo album, Violet?" Doctor Pichler asks.</p><p>"It's so strange––" Violet says in an odd voice. She then shakes her head. "That album. It's very strange because it's much more interesting to look at than the ones we've always had."</p><p>Sherlock is confounded.</p><p>"Could you try to explain?" Doctor Pichler asks, and he can pick up on the fact that her curiosity is greatly piqued.</p><p>"It was always very difficult to decide which photos of him to put into albums. If I wanted them to look like any normal family album, I would have to select images that were… not very him. What I mean by that are pictures which didn't look odd, pictures in which he wasn't doing things I had to explain to other people. But that's not what albums like that are really for, is it? They should be reminders of real things for us, and that makes them very personal things. It was hard to get Will–– <em>Sherlock</em> to smile, to sit still, to do something that people would do in a photograph. He was so… resistant and disengaged."</p><p>"You were ashamed of me," Sherlock mutters. He breathes deep, tries to disengage from the surge of anxiety, but it presses down on his chest, wells up in his throat. He can't bring himself to repeat what he'd said the way he had really thought it: <em>you were and always will be ashamed of me</em>. "You should have just left me out, then, filled those albums with Mycroft if it was so bloody important to look so disgustingly normal."</p><p>Not many people would describe his big brother as average or normal — more likely they would describe him as intelligent, somewhat intimidating and very, very snobby, but none of those things would make people treat Mycroft like a family secret.</p><p>Still gripped by an overwhelming mixture of seething anger and crushing resignation, it takes Sherlock a moment to realise silence has descended.</p><p>"Why do you––" Violet finally starts, blinking hard and her voice thick with emotion, "––why do you say such things? How could you ever think I would exclude you like that? You're both my darling boys, always will be. I shouldn't be surprised, really, that you can't see how the dreadful things you say can hurt other people, but it doesn't mean I'm immune to his lack of empathy," she scoffs, trying to engage Doctor Pichler.</p><p>"Sherlock: honesty, please. Was your statement just now borne out of wanting to hurt Violet, or was it a reaction to how it made you feel to hear about her process of choosing those photographs?"</p><p>Sherlock doesn't know. He had reacted without much consideration of the consequences of his words, but why is he the one being called out on the things he says?</p><p>Violet clears her throat. "When I tried to include pictures where anyone could see that Sherlock was… not like other children, it felt more honest, but George told me he didn't like those pictures. Even when Sherlock allowed me to set something up for snapping a family portrait, I could spot things that made him different even if those things weren't very obvious to other people. George used to get upset about it."</p><p>To Sherlock, those albums had always seemed like a desperate attempt by Violet to present some picture-perfect facade of their family, one that completely concealed the terrible secret that she considered his autism to be when she wasn't making herself important and demanding sympathy for herself for having a <em>special needs child</em>. He hadn't quite realised that his father had been embarrassed, too. He had never treated Sherlock badly, but then again, most of the time, George hadn't paid much attention to him at all. Sherlock had simply assumed that their father just preferred Mycroft's company.</p><p>"The album Sherlock brought me was so different from all the old ones," Violet continues. "It was easier to look at those things because I didn't have to decide what should be in there and what was acceptable. That new album is how he sees himself, and they're all sides he doesn't show me. Not really," Violet concludes. "Well, <em>hasn't</em> shown me until now."</p><p>"Would you like to see more of those sides, Violet?"</p><p>She takes her time to reply. "Yes," she says, a bit hesitantly, but then continues with more conviction: "Yes, I would, very much so."</p><p>Doctor Pichler leans back in her chair. "I think Sherlock would like that, too, and that's why we're here. We've nearly used our time for today, and I think this is a good point at which to conclude. There is one key question we should address: whether the two of you are willing to come back for another session. Violet, any thoughts?"</p><p>"I can't say I have enjoyed this, but at least here he can't ignore me or just march off in a huff when things are uncomfortable."</p><p>"I'll take that as a yes. Excellent. I certainly cannot promise that this will be easy, but I think we have made a good start in approaching a dialogue. Sherlock?"</p><p>"As you reminded me when I booked this session, it would be unrealistic to expect any significant change based on one appointment. Whether a change is possible remains to be seen, but any deductions regarding that made today would be based on very limited, inconclusive data."</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. An Opportunity Arises</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Lady Estelle Wolfson receives Sherlock in the boardroom of Great Ormond Street Hospital's Mittal Children's Medical Centre. Located in the middle of the sprawling hospital complex, the building has been recently renovated and renamed. As long as Sherlock has had dealings with the Trust, there has been construction going on at the site, and that's part of the reason for this visit.</p><p>It's not Wolfson he had expected; she had not been the sender of the emailed invitation to this meeting regarding Sherlock's research and the physical facilities it will require in the future. She's a family friend, and he's well aware of her association with the charity supporting the renowned children's hospital, but that doesn't explain why she'd be a part of these negotiations.</p><p>She calls out his name, then offers readily her hand for shaking. She does not lean forward for the customary kiss on the cheek because she has never demanded pointless and uncomfortable gestures from Sherlock — just a basic level of respect and politeness he is very willing to extend. Sherlock knows how to behave around her and she around him; they've known each other since he was a child, and that is why there is none of that <em>have-to-pretend-to-be-fully-functioning-and-socially-skilled </em>lark. As much as he loathes the label, it relieves the pressure when someone does know about him being on the Spectrum. Lady Wolfson had gone to university with Sherlock's mother but not embarked on an academic career; family wealth provided other opportunities for distinguishing herself. Stella, as she is known to her friends, is straightforward to the point of directness, observant, educated and respectful — all qualities he can appreciate. </p><p>She pulls out a chair for herself and points to the one next to it for him. "Thank you for agreeing to see me, Sherlock. I know it's hard to find time in your busy schedule, so I'm grateful that you didn't mind popping up from Kings. I'm here today to take up my new role as a public governor of the Foundation Trust so I thought it would be convenient to meet on-site."</p><p>She pours two cups of coffee from the tray and slides one in front of him. Black, with two sugars. "How is John?"</p><p>Sherlock suspects that John is still as cranky as he had been that morning. He is back at work after two days off due to high fever, taking antibiotics for his fourth tonsillitis in two years. John appears to have become a mostly asymptomatic carrier of the causative bacteria after contracting it from some teenager he'd gassed for a peritonsillar abscess surgery. He refuses to hear it when Sherlock tries to point out that he fulfils the criteria for an elective tonsillectomy.</p><p><em>'I know what torture going through it is for adults,'</em> John had declared before chasing down an ibuprofen tablet with water just before they left for work. <em>'Like hell I'm signing up for that shit.'</em></p><p>He has also complained recently — numerous times, in fact — that Sherlock has no right to share his private health information with other people, not even with other physicians.</p><p>"He's fine," Sherlock tells Lady Wolfson.</p><p>"It's been so long since I saw the two of you. You should visit at Tigbourne for a weekend. John doesn't hunt, does he?"</p><p>"No, I'm afraid he does not."</p><p>Tigbourne Lacey is the Edwardian estate Stella governs near Dorking in Surrey, in charge of which the death of her husband, Lord Francis, had left her. Sherlock remembers his mother taking Mycroft for a visit once while he stayed at home with their father. He remembers being puzzled even at the age of five why he was not allowed to go. Most likely, Violet Holmes was worried her youngest would stain a doily or break an heirloom teacup.</p><p>Sherlock glances at the wall clock and does not hesitate to be honest. "I thought I was supposed to meet with Seamus Murphy, the project manager putting together the research plan for the new Steadman Paediatric Neurosurgery Unit here. I've been updating him on the progress of the multi-centre study of my shunt design. He wants it to be run out of the new unit since GOSH one of our biggest patient recruitment centres."</p><p>"Seamus kindly delegated this meeting to me for reasons we'll get to in a moment. How is the project you lead going, then?"</p><p>"Good. We now have a patient pool of over 500, and the research network is all plugged in, joining up the work in twenty-nine countries. The results have been coming in for the past twenty-four months for all patients which means that we are nearly halfway to our chosen endpoint."</p><p>"Big steps forward, I see. You must be pleased."</p><p>Sherlock finds himself more relieved than pleased. Setting up the massive multi-centre study had been something of a logistical nightmare — one that had tested his patience with paperwork and bureaucracy to the limits. Because the project takes places in centres all around the world, being familiar with UK and EU regulations regarding medical research wasn't enough. If it hadn't been for the occasional help of a competent PA in Steadman's UK office, he'd never have been able to put it together while still maintaining his clinical commitments. Fortunately, there wasn't much for him to do once the study was underway but data wasn't ripe for analysis, so he'd been able to go to Malawi with John without compromising the project. It was only afterwards that he had understood how overworked he had been. It has always been hard for him to recognise his limits. In hindsight, the stress had begun to erode his motivation for patient work in the OR. What he'd mistaken for disillusionment in his surgical work at King's College had just been exhaustion.</p><p>Sherlock gives his coffee a vigorous stir. "Having a physical location here gives the research fellows and their assisting undergraduates a place to work. Kings' collaboration with GOSH attracted two tolerable and thankfully very autonomous PhD candidates who are doing the number crunching. The data on the functioning of the ProCoreValve's effects on mortality rates are already showing significant improvements in the infant subgroup for up to two years. We began that cohort early, so those results have been under analysis for some time now."</p><p>When he sips his coffee, glancing up to see Lady Estelle in his peripheral vision, he can see she is smiling. Again, he is puzzled by her presence. Given her various duties for the Wolfson Trust and several other charities, she has to be even busier than he is these days, and having a new formal role at GOSH will add to that. He's not employed by Great Ormond Street, only affiliated through occasional clinical co-operation and his research. Why take over a meeting concerning tedious practicalities?</p><p>"I saw your mother a couple of days ago for lunch at the National Portrait Gallery. We discussed the Chailey Foundation she's joined."</p><p>Sherlock's heart sinks. Could Violet have been so crass as to go to Stella to try to get her to convince him to help with her meagre, misguided charity work? She had tried to twist his arm about it several times to no avail, and that wretched conversation at Christmas a year and a half ago had been the final straw. He'd given her a piece of his mind regarding how well he thinks she is suited to helping families with special needs children. She hasn't brought it up since.</p><p>He'd been tentatively satisfied by how their joint session with Joanna had gone, but if she's done something so stupid as to try to get Stella to pressure him, then he's going to have to re-assess that conclusion.</p><p>"Violet is so proud of what you've been doing. I think that television documentary made her realise that you are one extraordinary surgeon," Stella praises.</p><p>"I doubt it. She struggles at times to remember that I am not six years old anymore."</p><p>Stella laughs. "Mothers… can't live with them, wouldn't be here without them." With a slightly conspiratorial glint in her eye, she continues; "Anyway, I told her she's unfathomably late to the party of recognising what everyone else has known for donkey's years. You are making quite a name for yourself, young man."</p><p>He considers this at face value. Stella is not one to compliment people without cause. Is it possible that she's heard something about their recent family conflicts? He hopes that Violet has not been indiscrete. He wouldn't put it past her to have complained to friends how <em>ungrateful and rude</em> her youngest has been. Could she have asked Stella to mediate so that she could dismiss Doctor Pichler's help?</p><p>The thought of Stella Wolfson chiding his mother for underestimating him is delightful — and a reminder that the Lady is not gullible or easily bossed around. He considers the praise he has just received and decides to accept it, albeit warily. He can judge his own scientific and surgical performance, but it can be eye-opening and useful to hear how the very few laypersons whose opinion he respects view his work.</p><p>"As long as it is for the right reasons, that's good." He gives a tentative smile.</p><p>"Of course, it is. You're building a brilliant reputation, as was evident at that GOSH gala dinner two years ago. I know that you are not in this for fame and fortune, so your work must be something you genuinely enjoy — be that with patients or your research. Not even as a child could anyone entice you to do things you didn't want to do regardless of what rewards were on offer."</p><p>She pushes away her coffee cup and leans forward. Her focus is relentless and a vital part of her commanding presence. "How are you getting on at King's? I hear good things."</p><p>This makes Sherlock feel a bit uncomfortable; he doesn't like thinking about the fact that the big players in London's NHS services are all networked and information — including gossip — is currency. Back when he started at King's, colleagues were often caustic and unsupportive in the face of his behaviour. He's had ups and downs, it's been a long road to the current status quo, and it still often feels as though he's on thin ice with other doctors. Still, these days John does not need to come to his rescue as often as before. There had been an… incident that morning, but just a minor one. It's not his fault that the NHS employs so many incompetent idiots.</p><p>Perhaps he is turning a corner. Once they get to know him, some people appear willing to judge him on <em>what</em> he does more than on <em>how</em> he does it. So, he shrugs. "Results matter, I guess."</p><p>"I know that GOSH approached you at one point to come work here…"</p><p><em>Ah, is this the reason for this meeting</em>? "I said no because I didn't want to be pigeon-holed into paediatric neurosurgery so early in my career."</p><p>"And I've been told just that. I understand your logic. You've also had a stint in Africa, broadening your general surgical skills. Commendable."</p><p><em>Has she been studying my CV? Or did Mummy tell her that</em>? Once again, he is confused about the purpose of this meeting.</p><p>Somewhat cautiously, he decides to ask, "Why are you suddenly so interested in my work?"</p><p>She laughs. "<em>Mea culpa.</em> You've sussed me out. I've been asked to sound you out on an idea."</p><p>"And what idea would that be?"</p><p>"We've just taken receipt of a three-million-pound contribution from the Roald Dahl's Marvellous Children's Charity to set up a new programme here within the Steadman Paediatric Neurosurgical Unit. The aim is to become the UK's premier research centre of excellence on infant hydrocephaly. You are aware of Dahl's family history of involvement?"</p><p>"Of course. Everyone knows the story of how he worked with GOSH and a hydraulics engineer to create the Wade-Dahl-Till shunt in the sixties. His son Theo could have been saved from blindness and brain damage if shunt surgery had been available at the time of his accident."</p><p>"The charity gets five per cent of Dahl's worldwide publication sales and wants to get behind the Steadman project to create a new smart ventriculoperitoneal shunt. They've already talked to James Stavenger here in the UK and to the project manager Seamus Murphy who you have spoken to before. They want to fund it inside the Steadman Unit for the next three years. And they want you to be involved."</p><p>"Me?" Sherlock is surprised. "Why?"</p><p>"Because you are gifted, Sherlock, in being able to make the kind of creative leaps in design that you've already demonstrated in your ProCoreValve shunt. They want you to run the design team."</p><p>He panics for a moment, blurting out, "But I'm not a team leader."</p><p>"So says the man who is more than halfway through a twenty-nine-country research project involving dozens of hospitals and hundreds of patients."</p><p>"That's different. I have help with the paperwork and tedious bureaucracy, and the two PhD students to do the grunt work on statistics." <i>I don't directly communicate with most of the people involved</i>.</p><p>"You would have such staff at your disposal here. People will queue up to apply for this. You'll be able to pick the best of the best research associates, to build your own team — including people who can run the admin side so that you are freed up for the design work."</p><p>"Why didn't Seamus Murphy mention this in his email? Why are you the person asking me?"</p><p>She takes a long sip of her coffee and then answers calmly, "Because I know you. It would be easier to say <em>no</em> to a stranger." </p><p>"I am perfectly capable of saying <i>no</i> to you."</p><p>"Yes, you are and you could. But you won't — not immediately. You'll think about it. I'm told by the people who asked me to talk to you about this that the offer is an amazing opportunity for you to take the next step in your research career, to really push yourself, to take a leading role."</p><p>The thought terrifies him. "I don't want to leave Kings, and I don't want to stop clinical work. I'm the only one at King's handling cases alone which would normally require both an ORL specialist and a neurosurgeon, and I couldn't possibly leave the posterior fossa surgery to Philip bloody An––" he trails out, remembering too late that it's 'a bit not good' to talk down a colleague.</p><p>He has invested a great deal in making the King's position work and most importantly: he likes sharing a workplace with John. Their relationship has been strengthened by the last two years, and part of that seems to stem from the fact that he is no longer hiding behind his partner, expecting him to sort things out when he gets in a muddle with other people. He has gained some confidence in being able to work with John on preserving and improving their private relationship. Therapy sessions with Joanna Pichler have taught him to appreciate more the good things in his life, to take a more constructive attitude towards the difficulties that do come up. They are equals, now more than ever, but he finds it reassuring that John is there at King's to talk to, available to advise him with matters he wouldn't want to share with others. And John drives them to work, sparing Sherlock from the horrors of the Tube. "I'm not looking for something new," he concludes sternly.</p><p>Stella is nodding. "I thought you might say that. What if you could have your cake and eat it, too? What if it were to be a split contract? You could work at King's as you do now — for three days a week. The other two could be here. According to the project manager, that's cost-effective, given it's a start-up situation and the aim is to recruit enough lower-tier employees that you wouldn't have to do the heavy lifting."</p><p>"I've not heard of someone working for two different NHS Trusts. How would that even be possible?"</p><p>"Rules are meant to be bent on occasions which call for it. This is one such occasion. Two contracts, both more flexible. Some… early reconnaissance has been done with King's Board of Trustees regarding such an arrangement with positive results. King's is already in partnership with GOSH on a number of services, and the new Steadman Neurosurgery Unit can extend that — you could be the pathfinder, a frontrunner for others. We have a great neurology service here but are lacking in the surgical side after losing several seniors with research interests to retirement, and King's certainly wouldn't mind a boost to their reputation as a research centre. Steadman has stepped in, and now Dahl wants to focus even more on the shunt. Both of them are on board with you being offered this role, even if it's part-time."</p><p>"I need to think about this. I am not committing to anything until I've talked to John." A thought occurs to him as soon as he's said that: "You haven't spoken to him about it yet, have you? Or Violet?"</p><p>She rises to her feet — always in high heels. "Of course not. I wouldn't go behind your back like that."</p><p>______________________<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>John's having one of <em>those</em> days which feel as though they've been sent to test the endurance and tenacity of a patient man — which John isn't. Not really. He can be patient with some people, and being married to Sherlock has certainly expanded his reserves, but he has his limits especially when under the weather. After two days of shivering under the duvet with fever and unable to eat because his throat feels as though he'd swallowed razor blades, he hardly feels up to going to work. Still, the fever is gone, bacterial tonsillitis is not very infectious except through direct mouth contact, and he can't afford to be absent for even one more day in terms of his admin duties. He'd dragged himself into the shower hoping that Sherlock might, for once, sort out breakfast. He shouldn't have been surprised when he'd found his husband in the kitchen focused on his tablet instead of food. It turns out that he'd been researching recurring tonsillitis so he could nag John about signing up for surgery to fix the issue. He won't, of which he'd informed Sherlock while forcing down half a bowl of cornflakes.</p><p>By the time they got in the car, the painkillers had kicked in and John felt marginally better but, once at his office at King's, things began to roll firmly downhill. Barely thirty minutes after they had parted ways in the locker room, Sherlock needed a conflict intermediary. His regular clinic nurse, Marie, is off sunning herself in the Canaries on a well-deserved holiday, and the staff nurse sent by a locum agency to take her place had stormed off in a huff when Sherlock had accused her of being '<em>worse than useless and a menace to the caring profession she is supposed to represent</em>'.  With the help of the outpatient clinic's Ward Sister John had managed to find another nurse in a hurry — one more familiar with Sherlock's ways of doing things. Sherlock tried to make excuses but John made it clear that '<em>This one has to stay. I can't pull another one out of a hat like some rabbit, so stop being an arse and just deal with it'</em>.</p><p>After that little altercation things have gone from bad to worse for John. He's had to endure more than the usual allocation of stupidity, ranging from tissue samples lost in the internal delivery system and a trainee gynaecologist contesting a decision not to accept her whirlwind resignation mid-contract to take a gap year with a boyfriend, all the way to equipment failures that John is somehow expected to fix with some magic screwdriver. The latest iteration of that particular hell — with OR staff all standing around looking at him like it's his fault — is when a theatre has to be taken out of commission for the two hours it takes to get the new 3D endoscopic system back into working order. When he finally solves that logjam by convincing the company's maintenance team to let them jump the queue (<em>'the patient was on the bloody table with the instruments in, mate, and we couldn't rotate the camera arm; we've got a full day of cases delayed')</em>, he convinced that this just has to be the last hitch of the day.</p><p>But the universe is not that kind. Next, that night's call rota for anaesthesia goes to pieces on him. Not one but <em>two</em> of his anaesthesia consultants have bailed, one with a death in the family and the other with a migraine — the third time this month. John knows her neurologist is working hard to find a preventative medication that would work, and that it takes time to assess the efficacy of each attempt, but the trials of the day have rendered him uncharitable enough to sigh and mutter curses under his breath. A legitimate sick leave is still better than having to send someone home with a raging hangover, which had happened last week with one of the ENT surgical unit's scrub nurses who'd come to work straight from his brother's stag do.</p><p>As the cherry on top of everything, a pile of patient complaints two unit heads have requested John to review and co-sign are waiting on his desk.</p><p>A third cup of coffee makes his stomach acids churn and his throat ache, and all he wants is to curl up on a sofa somewhere, but it can't be helped — there remain plenty of things urgently requiring his attention. He checks through that week's on-call lists and, due to a big training conference eating into their registrar pool and the skiing season still affecting numbers, the pickings are slim for who he could ask to take over the rota gaps tonight.</p><p>After a round of calls it becomes evident that John's last hope is Terry Miller, a cardiothoracic anaesthetist who's worked long stints in neuro as well. John's plea, however, falls on deaf ears.</p><p>"Sorry, mate. I know I am normally your go-to person when you've got an unexpected hole to fill but for once, my need to go to this gig with my girlfriend trumps my need to pay my outrageous mortgage. She's threatened to move out if I bail on her tonight," Terry explains.</p><p>"What about when the concert is over?"</p><p>There is a chuckle at the other end of the phone. "<em>Concert</em>? What planet do you live on, old man? It's a band gig, not some symphony orchestra — we're seeing Rixton up in Manny. Staying overnight — I've got a hotel booked and all."</p><p>John sighs. Terry has been a brick for helping out at short notice in the past, so he can hardly blame the guy for this occasion. "Well, I'll have to keep looking. Have fun."</p><p>Fun is what John will <em>not</em> be having because he knows that with this refusal, the likeliest person to fill the gap is him. As both the Director of Operative Services and the Anaesthesia Chief, he's the backstop to the backstop.</p><p>God, how home beckons. If he has to pick up the extra shift, he can't even take one of the stronger painkillers left over from his shoulder injury. They've been getting him through the nights. He just wants a blanket and some crap TV, hopefully with Sherlock curled up with him on the sofa assuming the man won't be buried under a mound of research papers. John puts out three more voice mail messages to see if he can at least manage to find someone to take over later in the evening. Doomed to stay past office hours, he then heads down to the cafeteria to grab something to eat and a bottle of water; it's going to be a long night.</p><p>He's slogging down a staircase when his mobile rings. Dragging it out of his pocket and glancing at the screen, he hopes it's going to be someone willing to come in.</p><p>His hopes fall as he recognises Sherlock's number. <em>At least this saves me the hassle of calling him to tell him I won't be home tonight.</em></p><p>"Hi there."</p><p>"John?"</p><p>He carries on walking down the stairs as he waits for Sherlock to continue. When the silence lengthens, he frowns. Sherlock never calls him during office hours just to chat. Sherlock never calls him just to chat, period. Sherlock never calls <i>anyone</i> just to–– "What's the problem?"</p><p>"I didn't say there was a problem."</p><p>"No, but long silences generally mean something's up with you. What's wrong?"</p><p>"Nothing's <em>wrong; </em>why do you assume there is something wrong?"</p><p>John rolls his eyes as he pushes open the door to the ground floor; the cafeteria should be reasonably quiet at this time of the afternoon. "Sherlock, you're the one who called me. So, why?"</p><p>"<em>Obvious.</em> I wanted to talk with you."</p><p>"Well, it will have to be later. I'm having a crap day that has just got extended until infinity. Say whatever you have to say and make it quick; I need to keep the line clear. I've got three calls out in the hope of roping someone in for the evening or at least the graveyard half or it's yours truly on duty until the morning."</p><p>"That's inconvenient. I need to talk to you tonight."</p><p>John grabs a tray from the pile and heads for the hot dish buffet. Maybe he'll get something down if Sherlock can provide a distraction from the cactus in his throat. "You could join me here for a bite to eat, and we could talk."</p><p>"No. What we need to discuss has to be dealt with in private, not where there are colleagues about."</p><p>John catches the eye of the catering staff behind the counter, pointing to the fish and chips. "Well, I'm sorry if I can't be on call for you twenty-four-seven today since I am paid by the hospital to fulfil responsibilities, you know."</p><p>"No need to be shirty about it." Sherlock sounds a bit offended. "I told you that you should have considered staying at home if your streptococcal infection is still compromising your strength."</p><p><em>Pot, kettle. </em>"Says the world's worst patient who'd crawl into an OR on their hands and needs unless I sat on them when they get sick."</p><p>"I don't like it when you use the third person when you talk about me. I can recognise that as sarcasm and, by definition, what you say must be insulting."</p><p>John sighs. "Look, I'm sorry; it's just been one of those days." He remembers then that he'd planned to stop by the grocery store tonight because they are out of milk. "Where are you?"</p><p>"I'm at Great Ormond Street."</p><p>John's confused; he'd thought Sherlock was somewhere at King's. "Why?"</p><p>"Didn't I tell you? I thought I had. I'm here for a meeting about the Steadman project."</p><p>"No, Sherlock, you didn't tell me, and it's not the first time. You could have at least reminded me this morning when I was sorting out the mess you made with the agency nurse. If it wasn't for this call shift, I'd have stood like an idiot at the garage waiting for you — again. It wasn't in the joint electronic diary either. You can't expect me to keep tabs on you if you can't be arsed to put stuff in. How difficult can that be?" </p><p>There is no reply, which provokes John into yet another sigh. "Apparently for you, it <em>is</em> too much to ask. Well, anyway, I'm not going to be home tonight until late, if at all. So, can you for once manage to get some milk on the way home? I know you don't put it in your coffee, but I do, and it would be nice to have that sorted by the time I do manage to drag my sorry arse home." He slides his tray along to the end, collecting utensils and a paper napkin on the way.</p><p>"The Ocado order will come in two days."</p><p><em>How bloody typical of Sherlock to remember that fact while forgetting to put his own appointment in the diary</em>. That is one of the more infuriating things about the man: his inconsistency. Chores and other actually important things are ignored and forgotten, but Lord forbid His Nibs to run out of his pear-and-posh-scented shampoo. For once, John would like to take a day off from having to sort all the practicalities of their everyday life while Sherlock has his head in the clouds. He <em>knows</em> this stuff is hard for Sherlock and he <em>knows</em> Sherlock tries pretty damned hard to manage, and he <em>knows</em> his brilliant autistic husband never deliberately ignores his needs, but just sometimes…</p><p>John snaps, "I am aware of that. I am, however, likely to want to put some milk in my coffee before then. Besides, you also like to have some in your tea — or have you deleted that?" he adds, not bothering to cut the sarcasm. "Christ, Sherlock, if it weren't for me, I swear you would starve to death and go naked."</p><p>"You could always buy a pint at the cafeteria which I can hear you are actually standing in."</p><p>"There's nothing wrong with your ears, then."</p><p>"Who said that there was a problem with my hearing?"</p><p>It is so like Sherlock to go all literal when John is trying to make a point. "Look, I meant what I said. I need to get off this line. I'm going to be even more pissed off if I have to stay until eight tomorrow morning because I was on the phone with you when someone who could have taken the shift tried to call me and failed to get through."</p><p>"Good night, John." The line goes dead.</p><p>It isn't until somewhere around midnight that it occurs to John that he never found out what Sherlock wanted to discuss.</p><p>______________________<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Still smarting from John's rebukes, Sherlock decides to walk from Great Ormond Street back to Baker Street. It's less than two and a half miles, and he could do with the exercise. He'd only called to see when John might be coming home and whether he would mind stopping by GOSH on his way to pick him up.</p><p>He needs to talk to John about this offer that has come out of the blue, and he knows that there is no power on earth that could make him do it over the telephone. He prefers email or text because words written down are not loaded with non-verbal clues that he is always slow to pick up on. He loathes talking on the phone — always has, always will. Not being able to see the other person's expressions makes it almost impossible for him to decipher the potential hidden meanings of what he is hearing. A lack of visuals always means that he can't sense the rhythm of the conversation well enough not to interrupt others. Running the multi-country study into his valve's success rates was made relatively easy by the fact that ninety per cent of the communication he's had to do has gone by email. Written communication is more efficient than trying to reach people by phone when doctors are involved: they can read emails in their downtime while on shift or pass the message to colleagues for action if it is urgent.</p><p>John, on the other hand, seems to have the opposite preference. He has often cursed that people easily misinterpret things said in emails and texts because they cannot hear the tone of voice with which they were written. That preference must be based on the fact that he finds non-verbal information reassuring and helpful to interpret whereas for Sherlock, it's a minefield. This latest phone conversation with John is a case in point; Sherlock is deeply unsettled by it. John's brief explanation of his crap day goes some way to explaining his tetchy mood, but Sherlock is very unsure of what to make of the fact that John's temper seemed to flare during that call. Is John still angry with him for this morning's debacle with that useless agency nurse? Or his not telling him about the appointment? Or maybe the milk thing? Maybe it's all three combined. None of the things seems to be worth snapping Sherlock's head off which makes him wonder what else has happened. Sometimes, he knows that it isn't his fault alone; what else happens in the day can make a difference to how John reacts to Sherlock-related things which, on a good day, he wouldn't be bothered about. Because the conversation had been cut short Sherlock has no idea what else might be bothering John. Lack of context always leaves him navigating blindly. <em>Can't deduce without all pertinent data</em>.</p><p>As Sherlock turns the corner at the intersection of Great Ormond Street and Boswell Street he looks up, and all the colour drains from his face. He's on the east side of Queen's Square, which means he's looking at the façade of the National Hospital for Neurology, a place that he would prefer to forget. Memories of his time there after his mentor Jan Andreason died crawl out from places in his mind he'd stuffed them in the vain hope that they remain buried. If Stella knew about his difficulties during that time, how the others had turned against him, would she have supported the idea of asking him to lead the new Steadman unit?</p><p>He quickly turns away back south, takes a deep breath and tries to calm himself. He keeps his gaze on the pavement as he heads to the pedestrian path on Cosmo Place to get him to Russell Square as fast as he can manage. He can breathe easier by the time he crosses the square to begin a zig-zag course, using side streets to head alternately west and then north until he gets to Grafton Way, which he takes to Fitzroy Square. A bit more ducking and diving along back streets and he's reached Regent's Park Crescent. Crossing at the lights takes him into Regent's Park Square; from there, it's tree-lined streets all the way home. Twenty minutes after he'd set out from the hospital, he's nearly reached Baker Street. That's when he realises what a pleasant pedestrian route it is. It might be nice to walk to and from GOSH on the days when he is working there. Being able to walk would mean he wouldn't be dependent on John driving him, as he is now to get to and from King's. He wouldn't have to go on the Tube or deal with cabbies, let alone some Uber driver.</p><p>The thought of already considering the practicalities of working for GOSH startles him — small voices in his head which sound remarkably like his mother and Mycroft begin tutting and then making snide comments about not putting the cart before the horse. He knows he hasn't properly thought through the offer apart from his initial panic at the idea of making a big change from what he is doing at King's. Focusing on the commuting advantages seems more than a little premature.</p><p>He changes his course, crossing Baker Street and turning onto Melcombe Street where the Tesco Express will surely carry milk. That store has the single redeeming virtue of being smaller than most grocery establishments. At this hour, it shouldn't be too busy. Sherlock is pleased to have remembered the milk in his distracted state. It will eliminate one reason for John to be grouchy with him. There is something about the tone of voice that John had taken with him that still rankles. It's not as if he is incapable of looking after himself and doing what is needed when it comes to shopping. Rather, it is a sensible division of labour: John is simply better at domestic logistics than he is. John also doesn't find such things as taxing and doesn't have the research commitments Sherlock has filling his free time.</p><p>Inside the store, his eye is caught by a stack of ready meals and salads, and he realises that this will be a nutritious alternative to the takeaway he might have otherwise ordered once he gets back to the flat. As he meanders down the aisle, heading towards the chiller cabinets in the back of the store, Sherlock keeps his eyes down on the lino floor because the overhead fluorescent lights are buzzing and the dazzling array of label colours on products is distracting. Sliding open a cabinet door, he finds the right milk by recognising the label and the green cap; John prefers semi-skimmed to either full-fat or skimmed. Reaching in, Sherlock hesitates. <i>A one-pint bottle or the bigger one, two pints?</i> Which does John expect him to get? He didn't say how much was needed, and Sherlock has not paid enough attention to their average weekly consumption to assess whether the larger one would go off before it was all used up. There is also the factor of the Ocado order arriving in two days. John doesn't like things going to waste — a residual effect of a poverty-stricken childhood he never wants to discuss. How much milk has John ordered to be brought in, and should that amount now be altered to accommodate for whatever size Sherlock picks today? What is the deadline for finalising the order?</p><p>While he is standing there in front of the open chiller door, trying to decide, a harried young woman towing a small child comes up behind him.</p><p>"Bloody hell," she snaps, "I don't have all day. Just make up your mind or get out of my way!"</p><p>She reaches past him to grab a two-quart-sized jug of milk. Startled, Sherlock steps back to get out of her way and collides with the child who starts crying.</p><p>"Don't you start!" snarls the mother at her daughter and drags her back up the aisle as she howls in protest.</p><p>The collision derails Sherlock's thought processes completely. He grabs both a pint bottle and a two-pint bottle and heads for the self-checkout. Following the automated voice instructions, he is grateful that it comes to a value low enough to just tap his card because the four-digit pin number is not coming to mind at the moment. He is further unsettled by the high-pitched, disconsolate wailing of the child, her hand held by the woman as she directs the cashier at the till to give her a packet of cigarettes.</p><p>Sherlock bolts from the shop before he, too, succumbs to a desperate craving to combat anxiety with nicotine.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Equivocation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In the safety of home twenty minutes later, Sherlock has managed to regain his composure and is able to fix himself some tea. As he waits for the kettle to boil, he chastises himself for not remembering to buy a ready-meal, given that John won't be home to cook their supper. When he'd put the milk away, Sherlock had surveyed the fridge and concluded that there wasn't much at all there — certainly nothing that would meet John's criteria of a sensible dinner. Sherlock wonders why John hadn't told him to buy something to eat in addition to acquiring milk. <em>Maybe he assumes I am observant enough to be aware of the status of the fridge?</em></p><p>He turns and looks around the kitchen and sitting room. What else should he spot that John would want him to address? He had snapped at Sherlock about all chores being relegated to him, but which ones would he want Sherlock to complete? He lets his gaze roam around the kitchen and sitting room. Is there more clutter than usual? What is the limit for John's tolerance of items on tables? When is hoovering due? Sherlock can't recall when John has done it last, if ever.</p><p>He could order some takeaway but the thought of using a phone and then having to deal with talking to a delivery person is too stressful to consider right now. Pouring himself a bowl of cereal, Sherlock sits down at the kitchen table. He won't tell John what he's eaten; at least he is consuming something that isn't a treat and he shouldn't feel guilty about it even if John has explicitly declared that cereal is not proper dinnertime food.</p><p>As he munches his way through the bowl of cornflakes, Sherlock considers the concept of guilt. He's never quite understood it — what he often thinks might be it is much closer to just fearing the consequences of having disappointed John than something pertaining to a past event he can no longer remedy. His sessions with Joanna Pichler have helped him see the point that suppressing his anger for years about the way his mother had treated him was hardly productive; it had poisoned their relationship, and he is only beginning to find a way through the toxic fallout. Could she feel ever <em>guilty</em> about it, and does Sherlock want her to? Remorse seems so pointless, and he's always operated in the present. Connecting words to emotions is so hard, and his mother doesn't seem to possess very much skill in it, either.</p><p>It had felt good to hear his mother express her distress over the deterioration of their relationship. But, had it felt good because it was an admission that he's not happy with the way she treats him now, or had the past been involved? Would it help Sherlock get past some of his anger to hear Violet Holmes admit that she's not quite the patron saint of mothers she's convinced herself to be? <em>Yes, it would</em>. It would be an acknowledgement of his feelings — something she has never done on any scale that would matter. She sidesteps, dismisses, twists and denies how he feels, interprets everything through a very narrow filter labelled <em>autism</em> and <em>Sherlock is just being</em> <em>his usual</em><em> difficult self</em>.</p><p>At least when it comes to his mother, accepting responsibility does seem important, regardless of whether guilt is involved. This realisation leads Sherlock further onto the subject of responsibility. He needs to talk to John about this offer from GOSH because it involves a whole professional new level of just that. It's also the kind of responsibility John's role at King's involves in troves, and which Sherlock has done his best to avoid because he has no aptitude for it. However flattering it may be to get approached for such a position, the thought of its reality is terrifying. Stella is right, of course, in that his initial reaction to it coming from a stranger would have been to say <em>no</em>immediately. There's been so much upheaval in his life in the past few years that he should just stop to catch his breath. And yet, he cannot just dismiss Stella's proposition. It could be a solution to many things, but would it come at a cost too high?</p><p>One thing Sherlock recognises as being associated with guilt is his own research. The ambitions that had led to the ProCoreValve shunt design seem to have waned in recent years, and he certainly feels regret, possibly even guilt about that. What has happened to the creativity which had spurred him to find that solution in the first place? It comes in odd fits and starts these days. While he'd been thrilled at the multi-centre research project being backed by Steadman, it has turned out to be more of a chore than he'd hoped. The fact that the shunt works is something that he's never doubted; needing to prove it through peer-reviewed research is necessary, but also endlessly <em>dull</em>. That just might be what's eaten up what little energy he has left for research after a full day at King's.</p><p>Clinical surgery is, as always, the thing he enjoys the most but the paperwork, dealing with people, having to relate to patients, colleagues and the machinery of clinical medicine will likely remain a trial forever. He does, on occasion, regret that his communication deficits make those issues worse for him than for other people, but he's not going to feel guilty about that — not anymore. How had Joanna described it…? It's not a case of <em>embracing his autism</em> or — Lord forbid — <em>celebrating it</em>. It's more about just coming to terms with it, not wasting too much energy hiding it, finding workarounds for things he can't manage well.</p><p>Joanna has offered sound reasoning for the fact that he needs to learn how to not hate himself as the first reaction to every difficult, that he needs to stop turning his anger and frustration inwards. Instead of withdrawing and getting depressed, he needs to focus on practical solutions to compensate for the way his brain works differently. This morning, an idiotic agency nurse had completely screwed up his outpatient clinic because she'd refused to do what Marie does for him during clinic — to talk to the patients <em>before</em> they see him. Marie does the reassuring bits because she's good at it, and that frees Sherlock up to focus on the medical science he excels at. He had been lucky to get Marie assigned to him on a regular basis; if he could have more say in who he works with, everyday life at King's would be much easier.</p><p>And that's precisely what Estelle Wolfson is dangling like a carrot: the chance to pick his own team. Therein lies also a question which cannot be ignored: is he becoming too dependent on Marie and John, on the tried and tested routines that have allowed him to improve his working relationships at King's? The amount of attention and energy he has to expend on dealing with his work environment may well have forced his research ambitions to take a back seat. Besides enjoying working at King's and wanting to work with John, one of the main reasons he's not considered looking for another posting is that he'd be at the mercy of others: a new boss, a new set of clinical colleagues. <em>God, imagine if they were all like The Botch.</em> He's never been willing to risk it. <em>Better the devils you know</em>.</p><p>Yet, Malosa had been a revelation. He'd coped with the unfamiliar better than he'd anticipated and actually relished the chance to prove to himself that he wasn't afraid of throwing himself into a challenging work environment with new people. Of course, it had been scary and challenging, but not in the way that his mother still insists on misunderstanding. It had made him more tolerant of the conditions of working within the NHS; trade-offs between well-maintained resources and the bureaucracy are a bit easier to deal with than the challenges of the make-do-and-mend that had been necessary to keep the small rural Malawi hospital functioning.</p><p>Even so, if Sherlock had not known that their work in Malawi was time-limited and the escape tunnel existed, he still wonders if he'd been willing even to try it. Their stint in Africa had convinced him that neurosurgery would always be his principal professional love. He'd never trade the thrill of the wide-awake surgery he'd done for Carrington Waldegrave for any surgical procedure in some other specialism. Brain surgery is an art of precision, poetry in motion compared to what he sees as crude near-butchery of many other operative specialties.</p><p>In a way, this new offer is a bit like Malosa, only not quite such a leap in the dark. He wouldn't be losing everything that works at King's; it's more a case of gaining something more. Unlike every other sort of posting that comes up, starting this centre of excellence from scratch, being able to select one's own colleagues — that puts a whole new spin on the idea. Still, John would remain at King's, and that is the key difference between GOSH and Malosa. Sherlock doubts he would have ever dared to sign up for a work period in a developing country without his husband by his side. This GOSH thing he'd have to do alone. Could he manage a new professional leap into the unknown without John? How can he ever know if he isn't willing to try?</p><p>As his spoon scrapes the bottom of the cereal bowl, Sherlock realises he's finished his dinner. Not what John would call it, but so what? Sherlock had fancied it, and he can decide for himself. He removes his glasses and rubs his closed lids with his fingertips. Pouring himself another cup of tea from the pot, he wanders over to his usual armchair and sits down, imagining what John would be saying to him right now if he were seated in his chair opposite.</p><p>Probably, he'd be cautious. '<em>Why rock the boat</em>', John would argue. '<em>You're just getting over a rocky patch and your dad's illness and going to therapy with your mum, and there's no need to put yourself under more stress</em>.'</p><p>His husband is so protective of him. Of course, it is one of the things that Sherlock appreciates about him. No one has ever cared enough like that, and it is reassuring to know that John wants the best for him. But… how much confidence does John really have in his ability to learn social skills? Even with the best coaching, the human interactions involved with such work would be immensely taxing.</p><p>He wonders if Joanna would encourage him to accept this proposition. Other people have always told him what he can and cannot do. Perhaps it is time for him to take some responsibility for defining that. Isn't that what the psychiatrist has been trying to teach him?</p><p><em>'What would it mean in practice?</em>' his imaginary John asks. '<em>For us, I mean?</em>'</p><p>Less time together, that is for sure. Their shared commuting time has been one of the ingredients that Sherlock has come to rely on for maintenance of communication. Being able to see each other occasionally while at work has been good, too. Knowing that John is there is always a comfort.</p><p>Sherlock starts arguing with himself. <em>It's not like that much would change</em>. Sixty per cent of the time, they'd still be working at the same hospital. Besides, representing different specialties and having to be on-call has always interfered with their joint free time since their schedules haven't often meshed. It's not at all the sort of working together that had happened at Malosa. Truth be told, he and John don't see that much of each other at King's, and when they do, it's over things like this morning's <em>contretemps</em>.</p><p>Two days a week at GOSH would not involve Sherlock in routine OR work; he would not be on call there, and there would be no patient follow-up clinic work. Of course, his opinion might be asked occasionally on the details of surgical procedures, but all in all, it would more of a nine-to-five job than King's College has ever been. It would be more predictable in character, and it would free time up to focus on the design research. Maybe he could be as radical as Dahl himself had been back in the fifties and recruit a hydraulics engineer involved in the design. If they are going to solve this need for real-time smart shunt operation, then some pretty off-the-wall thinking is going to be needed. Someone gifted in software development and chip design might also be very useful. Sherlock starts wondering how he would be able to find someone like that.</p><p>He can hear his imaginary John clearing his throat. '<em>Hold on, before you get too excited</em>… <em>Firstly, the position is new and undefined and unpredictable. You know how you react when the routines you find important get disturbed</em>.'</p><p>Yes, but he'd coped with Malosa. Sherlock only hates routines when they serve no purpose. Glaring at the mental image of John sitting in his chair, Sherlock would challenge him to think of some other deal-breaker, and John wouldn't disappoint.</p><p>'<em>Pie in the sky to think there won't be paperwork; just a different sort. There will be reports to write, deadlines to meet, meetings… endless meetings. Don't forget how impatient you get with such interminable sittings-down. You'd be a boss like me, and you've seen what I do to jump through all the bureaucratic hoops the NHS has</em>. <em>You griped for a week and complained for days after when you had to attend a health and safety session on perioperative patient handling,' </em>his imaginary John snarks.</p><p>Well, there is that, but in his own mind, Sherlock sees a difference in meetings that are just NHS bureaucracy and stuff that is anything relating to research. He's managed to cope with the Skype meetings about the ProCoreValve research project because he can see the point of them. He's always had more patience with professional assemblies that have a clear clinical purpose.</p><p>And he'd be in charge. If Stella is right and he gets a free hand in setting up the design team, then he would get to define the guidelines of interaction within that group. But, there would be much more than just his own interests to consider. He would have to look after the needs of a team he creates. Is he ready for that?</p><p><em>Ultimately, I have to be the one who makes the decision</em>, Sherlock reminds himself. He is not prepared to decline the job offer without more consideration, and John's views are an integral piece in the decision-making.</p><p>His imaginary John looks worried. The corrugation of wrinkles appears on his forehead, and the bags under his eyes make him look tired. He's going to be knackered after tonight's on-call. Not the best time to have this sort of conversation. Sherlock realises that he's going to have to take responsibility for thinking things through a bit more before he presents his arguments to John. Maybe Joanna could help him formulate what he should say.</p><p>______________________<br/>
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</p><p>It's only gone six in the evening, and the extra shift is already starting to feel like it is going to last forever as John is stomping down the theatre floor's main corridor on his way back from having a quick cup of tea. He's having to split his attention between keeping an eye on a fledgeling registrar and handling a challenging continuous-spinal-and-sedation for a hip fracture. The patient has dementia, severe COPD combined with obesity and sleep apnoea, he's confused and combative, and the sedation has to be adjusted just so that he continues breathing but doesn't try taking a swing at the orthopaedist.</p><p>The new Ukrainian trainee is doing nothing more complicated than a GA for laparoscopic cholecystectomy, but none of the consultants is willing to let him do things very independently once they had realised that his timid smiles and nods to everything did not mean that he was confident and knowledgeable and skilled — quite the opposite. In fact, the trainee has turned out to be pretty bad at assessing what he can already do and where he needs help for which he is very hesitant to ask. Unless supervised carefully, he could be a recipe for disaster and tonight, he's John's responsibility. If the trainee's performance doesn't start improving soon, a meeting will have to be called with the Educational Supervisor to discuss whether the young man is suitable for anaesthesia as a specialty at all.</p><p>An hour ago, John had been called in by a scrub nurse to the trainee's OR. He had been doing a central line since his patient didn't have enough good peripheral veins, and he couldn't quite work out the settings on the unit's new portable ultrasound machine. Instead of asking for help, he had already wasted thirty minutes fumbling around with an ultrasound view that wasn't acceptable for safe insertion of a large needle into a vein neighbouring a massive artery close to the patient's pleural space. On a different day, John would have been more patient because he actually enjoys teaching. Today is not such a day, so he had told the trainee to step aside while he adjusted the ultrasound, scrubbed in, and inserted the line. He then lingered in the OR long enough to make sure that the patient's anaesthesia induction and intubation went smoothly.</p><p>He's so intent on adding this to his pile of today's woes that he nearly collides with Lestrade in the junction between the trauma and gastrointestinal theatre corridors.</p><p>Fortunately, the chief of neurosurgery seems delighted to see him. "John, brilliant; so glad I managed to find you before you go home. You weren't at your desk, but I ran into Hale who said you were probably down here."</p><p>"Not going home any time soon. In fact, not until tomorrow morning."</p><p>"Bad luck, mate — the whole shift is yours, then?"</p><p>"Lead on-call now, and back-up from nine onwards for the trainee I complained about to you just last week. I'll have to stick around overnight in case I need to take over a case from him. Again, I might add. Better pray for a quiet night."</p><p>"Well, in that case, let's grab a coffee — the smaller break room in the neuro corridor should be empty by now. I need to have a word."</p><p><em>Christ. Don't tell me that he's heard about Sherlock's run-in with the agency nurse.</em> That would be all John needs tonight — Lestrade giving him crap about the extra expenses the locum agency will bill for that, and for not involving him. John clears his throat as he trails behind Lestrade and rolls his shoulders. If he ends up sounding weary of it all, tough. All this crisis management is just something that he has become accustomed to doing for Sherlock.</p><p>When he's got his hands around a cup of coffee that is actually drinkable instead of the coloured dishwater that they serve in the cafeteria, John prepares for the worst. "What's it this time?"</p><p>Lestrade gives him a funny look. "We haven't had a chance to in ages; so damned busy with meetings and all that. I'm wondering how you two are getting on, that's all."</p><p>John's brow furrows. "Getting on… in what way?"</p><p>"Did you settle back in alright after Africa?"</p><p>"Yeah, of course. No problems. Good to be back and all that."</p><p>"And I've gathered Sherlock's personal… issues are much improved?"</p><p>"Yeah, loads," John offers eagerly. "I assume you know about his father?"</p><p>"I do, yes. Helped him rearrange some call shifts around Holmes senior's appointments. He's doing well, I hope?"</p><p>"In remission and likely to stay that way."</p><p>"Excellent, excellent."</p><p>A silence develops which Lestrade uses to take a sip of his own coffee. The staff room has one of those Nespresso things, and Lestrade had nicked two of the decaf capsules for their beverages.</p><p>"You happy here?" the chief surgeon then asks John.</p><p>"Yeah, of course, I am. Why do you ask?"</p><p>"I was just wondering."</p><p>"Why?!" John's patience snaps. After the day he's had he has no patience for guessing games.</p><p>Lestrade almost flinches at the question. "I hope you know that I value your work — and Sherlock's, of course. Anything wrong with me saying that?"</p><p>"No, but what's the motive here?"</p><p>"I'm just hoping to God that you haven't seen the recent posting on the NHS job site; Great Ormond Street's just started advertising for positions at the new Steadman Unit."</p><p>"A bit early for that; seems like only yesterday I was at the charity dinner where they announced the funding."</p><p>"While you were away in Africa, they broke ground, and the damn thing is nearly finished. Bureaucracy being what it is, the positions went up on the website last week."</p><p>John takes another sip of his coffee. "Trying to tell me something? Reverse psychology to get rid of us?" he teases.</p><p>"If I could nail your bloody foot to the floorboards here, I would. If you are even thinking about anything else, you'd tell me, wouldn't you? I'm pretty damned sure the Board would offer you some incentives in trying to keep you here — both of you."</p><p>"Greg, I'm not going anywhere. To start with, I like King's. I like working with everyone here that I know well, and then there's Sherlock to consider. I'm not going anywhere without him; we're sort of joined at the hip work-wise as well as at home."</p><p>Greg's face is telling him that he's still worried and that consequently worries John, so he re-emphasises the point: "I mean it. I would never consider working anywhere else than with him. Our marriage doesn't start or pause at the front door to our flat. The way we enjoyed running that tiny hospital in Malawi was a case in point; it was one of the big pluses that we got to spend so much more time together at work."</p><p>Lestrade takes a breath. "I can tell you've made a big difference to him over the wobbles he had after Christmas; those reminded me of what happened when you went to Afghanistan. He seems to have sorted things and is back, firing on all cylinders again. Christ, he even apologised to Anderson around that thing with Alice. I wouldn't have believed it could be possible. No patient complaints lately, either. I hope he's happy here."</p><p>John thinks this through. "Why wouldn't he be?"</p><p>"A mate of mine at The National is applying for one of those positions; that Steadman Neurosurgery Unit is going to be all the bells and whistles you can imagine. He told me that he saw Sherlock over there today."</p><p>So that's what this is about. John chuckles, relieved. "Relax. He was there to talk to the project manager of the unit because they're moving his shunt research project to the new building. It'll be an improvement over running most of the show out of our spare bedroom. I am bloody relieved; the flat's so crammed full of the project paperwork that it's starting to spread to the living room."</p><p>Lestrade grimaces. "He's still pissed off at me not being able to get him his old office back, isn't he?"</p><p>Since returning from Malosa, Sherlock has had to share an office with a gastric surgeon who Sherlock has nicknamed <em>Ghastly. </em>He shares with John regularly sherlockianly melodramatic tales of woe of how <em>his </em>whiteboard is taken up with the man's materials.</p><p>"It's not just the paperwork that he's starting to tape up on the living room wall behind the sofa. He's got two PhD students to consider, too, so I'm glad that he's getting space at the new Unit. Of course, if you could have spared some room here, it would have been even better. It's a pain in the arse that he's going to have to waste research time to-ing and fro-ing to Great Ormond Street," John explains.</p><p>Greg just laughs. "Yeah, as if that was ever going to happen. We've got patients on trolleys in corridors and finding anything more than a broom closet is impossible. I can't compete with a brand-new building, can I? So, you're sure Sherlock's not sniffing around at any position at GOSH?"</p><p>"Absolutely sure. I think he turned them down while negotiating a consultant post here after his training concluded; didn't want to get typecast in paeds."</p><p>"So you say, but I still worry. I know he's donated some of his royalties from the shunt to GOSH, so he's clearly got a soft spot for them. It makes me nervous. Sherlock's research has never been tied to King's and the guy isn't motivated by money, so I can't wave anything to entice him on that front to keep him here. So, just saying, I don't want to lose him. You'll tell me if he's thinking of jumping ship, won't you?"</p><p>"Of course, I will. But don't worry. He may be high-maintenance as a colleague, but things are getting better, and I am happy to keep supporting him."</p><p>"You two make a good team."</p><p>"Yeah, we do."</p><p>John crunches up his disposable cup and throws it at the bin in the corner; of course, it misses. His call phone bleeps to life before he has a chance to pick up the litter.</p><p>"John? We need you in OR three; could you come to give Dr Kolisnyk a hand with the videolaryngoscope?"</p><p>"Emergency?"</p><p>"Not really. It's just taking a while getting the tube in," Carole Hill, the circulating nurse tells him in a tone of thinly veiled exasperation.</p><p>"I'm on my way," he sighs and responds to Lestrade's raised brow with an eye roll.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Breaking The Status Quo</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Have you been in contact with Violet after our joint session?" Joanna Pichler asks Sherlock.</p><p>It's not a question that surprises him. The session in question two weeks ago had been tense and complicated. Sherlock would never pride himself in being good at reading the atmosphere in a room or individual people's moods, but even he had picked up easily on how on edge his mother had been, more so than him.</p><p>He can't recall such unease from the appointments she'd taken him to as a child.</p><p>"Yes. She has called me several times, usually to inform me of something which has no consequence in my life and in which I am not interested."</p><p>"Such as?"</p><p>"Her charity work; I suspect she is still hoping to rope me into that. It's either that or boring for Britain about her gardening plans for the coming season. And she never fails to mention Mycroft's new villa on Lake Garda. She doesn't understand why I don't use my funds in the same manner as my brother, who seems to be on a kick buying holiday homes on every continent. He has a desire to demonstrate his wealth while I don't have any interest in pandering to the expectations of some lifestyle. My parents live relatively modestly, so it's not where Mycroft gets his lavish habits."</p><p>"Could it be that your mother is expressing pride over what your brother has made of himself?"</p><p>"Probably. As much as she pretends to hold achievements in academia in higher esteem than commercial success, you wouldn't believe it when you compare how she talks about Mycroft and me."</p><p>"Why do you think she has reached out to you by phone after our session?"</p><p>"On those days she must have run out of other people to pester."</p><p>What he has learned to recognise as barely concealed amusement plays on the psychiatrist's features. She seems to find it funny when he phrases this strongly his dislike of people.</p><p>"Or, could it be that she isn't sure what to make of our session and is hoping to gauge your feelings regarding it? Could she giving you an opportunity to say something so she can listen as you have told her you are hoping?"</p><p>"I couldn't possibly know. There are more pressing matters at hand."</p><p>He smooths a crease on the throw draped over the hand rest of the new sofa in the office. Its fabric is coarser than that of the old one, woven from colourful threads with knots of varying sizes. <em>She always selects things which hold haptic interest</em>.</p><p>"More pressing matters?" Pichler prompts.</p><p>"I've had… an offer."</p><p>"Oh?" Her eyes light up with eager curiosity.</p><p>Why can't John be this interested in what he attempts to discuss? Especially when he specifically informs his husband that he wants to converse on a topic? The way John had dismissed him on the phone yesterday still smarts and Sherlock doesn't quite understand why — it hadn't been a response to the topic, just to him. By the time John came home from his night on call, Sherlock had already left for work. Maybe he should have texted John last night to ask him how the work was going? Had John's tetchiness been caused by a perceived lack of empathy from Sherlock over his predicament? Sometimes, navigating his relationship with John raises so many questions that it makes him unsure what to do or say next. At least Doctor Pichler is clearly indicating her interest.</p><p>"It's a job offer that would entail two days a week setting up a new research programme at Great Ormond Street Hospital. It would include some administrative duties, much of which I've been told could be delegated to the appropriate staff. Essentially, it is a senior research position which would require me to manage people."</p><p>"I assume the rest of your time would be spent in clinical work?"</p><p>"Yes. I would retain my position at King's College for three days a week."</p><p>"That sounds like a wonderful opportunity; we've talked about how you've struggled to find time for research."</p><p>"Yes," he replies curtly and straightens his back. Her enthusiasm makes him uneasy, and he realises his body language must be conveying the anxiety that is coursing through his veins.</p><p>It's no surprise that she picks up on all that. "What is it about the offer that is worrying you?"</p><p>If he knew the answer, he wouldn't be raising the topic here.</p><p>When he doesn't answer immediately, she tries again: "What other benefits would this new position offer?"</p><p>This is something he can deal with because it's factual. "The fact that I don't have to give up clinical work for research or vice-versa; at King's I've got the most done when I've been granted research leave, but it's always an uphill climb to get any approved. According to the people making the offer, it's a chance to make more of a name for myself; the research work I care the most about would have a significant boost because it would put me at the front of a centre of excellence in the area. There are a lot of other people, more senior to me, who would jump at this chance to start up their own research centre. They're trying to sell it to me in a way that has hands on deck for the mundane bureaucracy of research, freeing me up for the brain work. Because I'm the one setting up the programme, I wouldn't have to work with people foisted on me; I get to choose my own team. Higher pay, though that is of no consequence. Shorter commute, potential for walking."</p><p>The financials had been detailed in an email which had arrived from GOSH an hour before this appointment. Combined with 60 % pay from King's, the GOSH wage would significantly increase his earnings. Not that it's of much importance to him — the shunt royalties would allow him to retire today if he so chose. But John might be impressed. Or envious. <em>It's all so damned complicated</em><em>!</em></p><p>"Sounds very nice, but you seem conflicted," Doctor Pichler points out. "Why? What is there that is worrying you?"</p><p>He tries to look at her, but somehow can't seem to make eye-contact. "It's a lot of responsibility. What happens if I make a mess of it? If it's too much for me to cope with? If it means that what I've managed to achieve at King's, and with John, is somehow at risk or even damaged by it? I'd be left in an untenable position with <em>two</em> jobs in which to struggle."</p><p>Her smile is gentle. "That sounds a bit like catastrophising to me. Was this offer something you didn't apply for, something of a surprise? How did you come by it?"</p><p>"A family friend in a high position within that NHS Trust approached me at the behest of their powers-that-be. She operated under the impression that I was looking for a change in my routines."</p><p>"And is she right?"</p><p>"No, even though our African sabbatical might have given people that impression. I am not <em>looking</em> for a change, but I do wonder about the reasons why I found myself initially opposed to it. As listed, there are many benefits. I worry that I am just a coward."</p><p>"Let's spend some time looking at the reasons behind that thinking. There's nothing wrong with wanting to stay in a job where one feels comfortable and esteemed."</p><p>"Esteemed? At King's, I am one of the consultants, no more and no less. Lestrade insists I must waste my time with bread-and-butter things even though my surgical skills are in demand elsewhere, even abroad, for the most difficult cases. He opposes favouritism more than he wants to make the best of my abilities."</p><p>"Could this offer be a bargaining chip in changing your job description?"</p><p>"I have no idea. It might just anger Lestrade, and consequently, he'd tell me to go work for GOSH, then, if I hate it at King's. He can be rather obstinate. But I do enjoy working at King's. There Marie and John make my life easier, and generally, the work is organised in a tolerable manner. The OR personnel are skilled, and they are used to how I like to do things."</p><p>"The human side at King's works well for you."</p><p>"Yes," he admits readily. He can't hold back a sigh. "Change involves risk, and there are things involved in this job offer that would be particularly challenging for me. The prospect of having to lead people. Having to address their concerns and needs. Having to <em>notice</em> those needs and those people. The risk of ending up having to cram my current workload at King's into three days because my surgical skills continue to be in high demand. I would have to insist all the bread-and-butter cases be given to others. It would be a relief, but they would complain."</p><p>"It's the staff that make you want to stay at King's, and the staff who are causing you the most doubt about this job offer. Could we rephrase that? What <em>about</em> the staff is the key issue here?"</p><p>"You're on a fishing expedition, aren't you?"</p><p>She laughs. "Just helping you connect the dots."</p><p>"I assumed it was obvious that the issue is not really them — it's me."</p><p>"You've spent years finding a balance between your challenges, your needs and your work environment. If you took on this position, perhaps you fear it would underline the ways in which you are different?"</p><p>He hadn't thought of it that way. Her suggestion makes him realise this is precisely why Stella Wolfson being the messenger had rattled him in a way he had been unwilling to consider. "They chose a family friend to speak to me because she knows me. She knows how to present such an opportunity for me." His eyes go wide. "Did they choose her because they <em>know about</em>––"</p><p>"You've told me you have a reputation among neurosurgeons. Do you think that your fellow physicians have never speculated on the possibility of a neuropsychiatric explanation?"</p><p>His expression must clue her in to how horrifying he finds this thought.</p><p>"I'm not saying they are discussing your diagnosis behind your back, Sherlock," she hastens to add. "That's the paranoia talking which we've established can easily tie you up in anxious knots quite needlessly. People talk, and physicians are no different. Look at it this way: asking your family friend to approach you means that they are doing a lot of work to approach you in the right way  and that they want to be sensitive about things that make you different."</p><p>"I don't want anyone knowing or discussing anything about me," he replies quickly, trying to covertly wipe his nervously sweating palms on the sides of his thighs.</p><p>Dr Pichler takes time to consider this, biting her lip. Eventually, she nods and says, "Will this new unit affect your research if you turn the position down?"</p><p>"Yes. My project will still be relocated to GOSH, and then I'd have to deal with whoever they choose to oversee the new centre."</p><p>Either way, he'll have to deal with new people and a new organisation as a subordinate or a leader.</p><p>
  <em>Either way, I'm in trouble, aren't I? Either they'll dislike me and shun me, or I'll be their boss, and they will talk. They'll all know––</em>
</p><p>He's vaguely aware of his chest heaving, of black dots dancing at the edges of his visual field.</p><p>
  <em>I'm never going through that again.</em>
</p><p>"Sherlock?"</p><p>He's startled to find Dr Pichler's face level with his own; she has leaned down on her haunches in front of him and reaches out for his right hand. <em>When did she leave her chair? </em></p><p>With a shudder, he forces himself not to pull his hand away. She pries his fingers open, revealing reddened crescents where he'd dug his nails into the soft flesh of his palm. "You're hyperventilating. I need you to hold your breath for ten seconds."</p><p>She counts them out for him. When they're over, he draws a breath and coughs, heartbeat whooshing in his ears.</p><p>She retreats back into her chair, gives him a moment. He nearly rises to his feet to start pacing, but it appears that she'd interfered with his rising anxiety in time to slam the door before full-on panic had set in.</p><p>"Ready to talk about what you just remembered?" she then prompts.</p><p>"Why do you think I remembered something?" he manages hoarsely.</p><p>"People — you, specifically — don't often react to hypotheticals in such a sudden and intense manner. You were lost in thought, <em>triggered</em> by something, and that tends to be connected to the past rather than the future."</p><p><em>Damn her powers of observation.</em> "You say I'm being paranoid about other people talking about me?" he accuses. "It's not paranoia when it's already happened, is it?"</p><p>It had happened at medical school with Sebastian Wilkes. It had happened at the National after Andreasen's death. Without anyone to protect him, he's exposed.</p><p>"Fear often makes us see similarities between past and future events where there may be none."</p><p>"How can you know that? You can't predict what would happen if I take that position."</p><p>"I know this much: it's likely that now you are in a much different position to the people you will have to interact with than you have ever been before. You will be in a much stronger position to affect the way people in that unit — yourself included — will be treated."</p><p>He closes his eyes momentarily. His chest no longer feels it's like a vice around his lungs.</p><p>"Would you like to talk about those things that happened before?"</p><p><em>Stupid question. Who would ever 'like' to talk about such events? </em>"No."</p><p>"Would you be able to try if I convinced you it would be highly beneficial?"</p><p>"Not right now," he forces out from behind clenched teeth. "I swore I never would."</p><p>"Have you shared those things with John?"</p><p>"No. Those things happened. I got over them."</p><p>She regards him patiently. "Define 'to get over something', please."</p><p>"What do you want me to say? That having–– having–– what just–– that it doesn't exactly fulfil the criteria, does it, of <em>overcoming difficulties and coping with them</em> and whatever nonsense you want me to spout?!"</p><p>"You're angry at yourself and lashing out at me. I'm not trying to make you feel inadequate or embarrassed by pointing out how deeply those past things have affected you. Clearly, they have been very traumatic."</p><p>"I'm not <em>traumatised</em>." He spits out the word as though it carried a bad taste. It's not often Joanna Pichler makes him feel rather pathetic, but she's in fine form today.</p><p>"I don't want to end up in a battle of wits and denial with you today, Sherlock. I have promised to call you out on when your tendency to compensate for embarrassment by dismissing your need for support threatens our therapeutic relationship."</p><p>He crosses his arms and huffs.</p><p>Pichler glances at the wall clock. "There are risks, too, in trying to pretend change doesn't happen. I don't want to sound like I'm attempting to convince you to take this job, but I will give you some food for thought: yes, there is a possibility of severe difficulties with communication in leadership for you, but are you allowing your diagnosis to discourage you when there is no tangible data to prove you would inevitably fail in this position? This job sounds like something you get to choose, rather than having it foisted on you. We will discuss it further next time, see where your thinking is then regarding the potential hazards. Have you spoken to John about this offer?"</p><p>Sherlock bites his lip. "No. Not yet."</p><p>Surprised, Joanne asks, "Why do you think that is?"</p><p>It always annoys Sherlock when she sounds like she has a solid theory but is concealing it and trying to fish out his distorted thinking. "Our schedules haven't coincided yet. But there is another reason. I don't want him to think I don't want to work with him or need his help."</p><p>"If I understood what you said, you would still be working at King's for three days a week. How much do you actually work <em>with</em> him in terms of clinical patient cases? Or are you talking about his just being available at King's on a personal basis?"</p><p>"Probably more the latter than the former. As Director of Operative Services, he doesn't end up gassing for my OR work that often. But, he knows me outstandingly well, so I don't have to put up a front of normality with him. It also counts for something that he drives us to work and that we see more of each other currently than we would if I were to accept the offer."</p><p>"What do you assume would be his answer if you asked for his opinion on whether this new opportunity is a good idea?"</p><p>She's found another one of his key worries, and her question makes him realise something. "I think he'd say no. Perhaps worry that I'm taking on too much. I… perhaps I don't want to hear him telling me not to do it because it would mean he thinks less of me professionally than he likes to pretend."</p><p>"John has been encouraging towards your attempts at King's to make things better for you, has he not? To improve your working relationships with others?"</p><p>"Yes, but that says nothing of whether he thinks I could manage without him."</p><p>"Do <em>you</em> think you could manage without him?"</p><p>"I don't know!" Sherlock snaps. "And it's hard to ask him because even I can see that the question is fraught with so many risks of insulting him. I can't even recognise all of them, I'm sure. Just raising the question seems like walking into a minefield blindfolded."</p><p>"Sherlock, this offer was made to you. John is not your competitor for this position, is he?"</p><p>"No."</p><p>"Would he not want you to take a step forward in your career?"</p><p>"I suspect his protective streak would come out and that he would likely tell me not to make my life harder. We've both carved ourselves comfortable niches at King's. We have a system in place which allows him to worry less about me and for me to have someone to fall back on when I inadvertently piss people off."</p><p>"Wouldn't he worry even less if he couldn't be involved at all with how you manage things?"</p><p><em>Why would John worry less if he had no control over how I manage with other people?</em> "I doubt it. It's habitual for him, trying to manage me and things around me."</p><p>"Perhaps it doesn't have to be such an all-or-nothing affair, John helping you."</p><p>"What do you mean?"</p><p>"Taking on the responsibility of leading a research unit is not that dissimilar to what John does in his administrative position at King's, is it? He could offer invaluable advice to you based on his experiences."</p><p>"I'm not sure he could refrain from being condescending about that."</p><p>"Is he often condescending with you?"</p><p>"No, unless he's annoyed with me.</p><p>Doctor Pichler frowns. "To me, it almost sounds as though you want his help — yet don't want to need it. You fear not having it but also fear having it inflicted on you because it somehow suggests you are not capable of doing this job."</p><p>"I just can't know if I could manage without him, and it wouldn't help if I was just waiting for his 'I told you so'."</p><p>"Does that phrase sound like John, do you think, or perhaps someone else?" she asks, lip quirked up.</p><p>"It does sound more like my mother, yes, but I wouldn't put it past John to say such a thing if I accepted the job despite his misgivings."</p><p>"I won't deny that taking on this new role would put certain traits and challenges of yours to a great test. But, let's look at it from another angle. Everyone has strengths and weaknesses. If the weaknesses could be overcome, compensated for, should that not be done in order to bring that person's strengths to the forefront, to allow them to fulfil their potential?"</p><p>"What if those faults are too great to compensate for?"</p><p>"This seems very similar to how you felt about training future surgeons. That is a challenge you decided to meet head-on, not letting the possibility of failure deter you or paralyse you. You chose not to let your diagnosis define what you were capable of learning."</p><p>"I didn't really have a choice with Alice, did I? <em>John</em> threatened me with a formal warning!" He's not really as scandalised by the idea as he might sound; John had done a good job in explaining that he wasn't doing it as punishment but by demonstrating that learning to train new surgeons was something Sherlock could no longer sustain an aversion for based on his fears of doing it wrong.</p><p>"The point is that you rose to the challenge and found that you eventually managed it well," Pichler reminds him. "You did that off your own bat, deciding to go to Malawi, which was a challenge that paid off. Who is to say that this would not also be the case with this new post? Let's play devil's advocate. What's the worst that could happen? The absolute most rotten outcome from this endeavour?"</p><p>"I am dismissed from GOSH, publicly shamed for my failure in leading the new programme, the reasons for which become common knowledge, meaning that no such opportunity comes my way in the future."</p><p>Pichler nods, expression sombre. "How realistic does that outcome seem? How easy is it to kick out an undesirable superior in the NHS?"</p><p>"Very hard — too hard, in fact," Sherlock admits. "The administrative level is full of imbeciles."</p><p>"Do you think you could do better than some of them?"</p><p>"Yes. But people higher up at GOSH are not the ones that matter. They won't be the people who I would be responsible for managing."</p><p>"Would there be a way to make this position temporary, at least at first?"</p><p>"I don't know. It never occurred to me to ask."</p><p>"Would that lessen your fears? A fixed-term contract with an option for more? It would be a start-up operation if I understood you correctly. It might be logical to have a break clause once it is up and running. "</p><p>Could he really request such a thing? It would be a trial period for both parties, and when it ended, he wouldn't be kicked out if it wasn't working out — he would simply not request a new contract. He'd go back to King's — possibly with his tail between his legs, but it wouldn't be because GOSH fired him or because he caused some scandal. He could get out before things got too difficult.</p><p>"Off the top of your head: do you want to try out this opportunity?"</p><p>"Yes, in many respects, but it's not that simple."</p><p>"Off the top of your head, again: what makes you hesitate the most?"</p><p>"John. I don't even know how to raise the subject with him."</p><p>Pichler looks curious. "Have you tried?"</p><p>"I thought about telling him on the phone last night, but it became clear that my timing was very off for unfathomable reasons. I don't want him to affect my decision-making too much, yet I don't want to anger him by making such a decision alone."</p><p>She nods. "It would change many practical things about your everyday life, so I do think he needs to be involved. However, it would be good to formulate your own opinion — even if just preliminary — before you talk to him. Then again, if you're very on the fence, he could help you see the pros and cons, assuming his opinion on the subject matter is not very emotionally loaded."</p><p>"How can I even tell whether he's going to be rational or emotional? It seems I want him to back off, but I also want him to contribute. I need him to help me decide, and I need him to let me formulate my opinion alone. I almost hate that I've been presented with this. Having to deal with Steadman for my project in the context of this new programme means that I can't just ignore the offer."</p><p>"Ignoring the offer would be an indirect no, Sherlock."</p><p>He huffs in annoyance. "It's the same as with my mother. Ignoring her is apparently a decision, too. One that she thinks has consequences."</p><p>The psychiatrist shifts her leg on top of the other. "I hope you won't find it patronising if I say I am very pleased about your progress regarding Violet. At least during our joint session, you remained relatively unprovoked and defended your feelings in a manner that still gave her room to express hers."</p><p>"I'm not sure she would notice or know how to appreciate such things."</p><p>"Regardless; it was a difficult session. I doubt that one with John regarding the opportunity you've been offered would be as challenging." The psychiatrist shifts in her seat. "I hardly need to remind either you or John that part of being in a marriage means being there for one another when things get difficult. You've demonstrated that in spades, with Afghanistan and your own trials with the halo, and John has done a lot of work to understand you and support you constructively. Against that backdrop, is it realistic to think he wouldn't be supportive and understanding if things got difficult with this new position or the negotiations regarding it? Wouldn't you benefit greatly from his support at home and his counsel in the new post if things got tough?"</p><p>He has to look down and bury his hands in the wrap's textures. "I just don't want him to say 'I told you so'. I don't want to disappoint him."</p><p>"What do you think would happen if you explained to John exactly what you've said here to me, that you are conflicted but that you want to discuss things with him?"</p><p>"It's easier with you. You aren't invested in the status quo."</p><p>"Perhaps John is more interested in you than in a false idea that nothing ever changes. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, Sherlock. Try to find a way to talk to him. Expressing how difficult you are finding this decision is a good way to start."</p><p>Sherlock glances at his watch; their session has run five minutes overtime.</p><p>As he stands up to leave, Dr Pichler clears her throat.</p><p>"I'd like to give you some homework, Sherlock."</p><p>He groans.</p><p>"The things which our conversation brought to mind today, those past events which still made you rather emotional… I'd like you to put them in writing. Nothing extensive — perhaps an email? Write a draft summarising those events, and then decide if you are ready to send it to me. If not, then let it wait but don't delete it. You can rephrase as many times as you like until you're happy with what framework you want me to have for your reaction today. Will you do that?"</p><p>He rolls his eyes and mutters, "If I must."</p><p>____________________</p><p> </p><p>In the cab en route home, he tries to get the writing exercise over and done with. It all sounds so… trite and belittling when he writes it as though summarising the weather or a piece of news.</p><p>
  <em>'A fellow medical student I had been at odds with since the beginning of our studies targeted me in a campaign to covertly question my suitability for the medical profession.'</em>
</p><p>
  <em>'When my mentor at the National passed away very suddenly…'</em>
</p><p>They certainly don't sound like anything to have an anxiety attack over. He had re-forged his path after those crises, scraped himself back together. Those hateful things had made him stronger. He had refused to let other people tell him he should quit medicine because of his autism. Both times, it had been a fit of rising anger at the unfairness of it all, which had pushed him past his emotional barriers and his reserves. That first time, he had nearly wrecked himself by not giving in, by demanding justice and better treatment. He'd ended up in psychiatric treatment, which had hardly felt like a price worth paying — until it turned out that everyone else did see how wrong Wilkes had been and how he'd victimised Sherlock because of his autism.</p><p>Now, he's doing it to <em>himself</em>, isn't he — he's the one preparing an internal 'told you so' lecture to beat himself up with if he fails?</p><p>He had once told his academic supervisor at Cambridge that he wanted no special treatment — that whether he succeeded or failed, he'd do so on his own terms. Has the safety and comfort of his working life at King's under the protection of his husband made him forget that ethos?<br/><br/></p><p>____________________<br/><br/></p><p>An hour later, John is staring at him, arms crossed.</p><p><em>Angry</em>, Sherlock interprets. For what part of what he's just told his husband, he is not certain. His first instinct is to flee the conversation, but he reminds himself that he's done nothing wrong. He's had an offer, that's all. One on which he wants John's input.</p><p>"Oh, bloody hell. I just told Lestrade that there was nothing to the rumour," John curses.</p><p>"What rumour?" Already Sherlock feels like he's been sidelined from the conversation, all potential directions in which he had anticipated this could go gone up in smoke. <em>Typical</em>.</p><p>"You were seen at GOSH by one of Greg's mates and last night, he asked me, point-blank, if you were interested in the positions being advertised for the new Steadman neurosurgery unit."</p><p>"Neurosurgical <em>research</em> unit — the Dahl Centre of Excellence for Complex Hydrocephaly."</p><p>"Whatever. Thing is, I told Greg categorically that you're not."</p><p>"That's true. I'm not interested in any of the position being recruited for through public adverts."</p><p>John's face shows his utter confusion. He plants his palms on the breakfast bar, pushes aside a half-eaten packet of biscuits Sherlock had left there that morning. "I quote, verbatim: <em>'John, I've been offered a job</em>'. How the hell do you get offered jobs without applying for them?"</p><p>"If you'd let me explain further before jumping to the wrong conclusion, I would have told you that this is a post that hasn't been advertised. I've been offered a two-days-a-week contract to head up the centre's research programme. There's going to be a design team which could be made multidisciplinary."</p><p>"Two days a week? With clinical work for the other three?"</p><p>"Yes, at King's<em>.</em> So, we'd still be working together for the majority of every week."</p><p>"Christ, I wished you'd told me yesterday. Now I'm going to look like a right berk — or worse, a liar — to Lestrade."</p><p>Again, Sherlock is taken aback by the direction in which the conversation has gone. Why is something Greg Lestrade may or may not think of any consequence right now, with just the two of them having a conversation? It doesn't seem to connect to the actual matter at hand at all. This job offer involves him, and him only, and Stella had said that negotiations had been done with the King's College Trust.</p><p>Warily, he asks, "Does that really matter? You told him the truth; I've not applied for anything that is being advertised."</p><p>John huffs; he is clearly exasperated with a tinge of anger still. "Splitting hairs, Sherlock." He looks down at his tea and frowns. "I think I need something stronger than this."</p><p>He gets up and goes into the kitchen, opens one of the cupboards and takes out a whisky bottle, pouring himself two fingers. Knowing John's preference for Highland over Islay, Sherlock had picked it up at the airport when flying home from a conference in Istanbul.</p><p>He doesn't like travelling alone. He doesn't like doing things without John. That thought, together with his husband's misdirected ire, is making him feel wrong-footed. "Pour one for me, too."</p><p>He might be in need of something to calm himself down because anxiety is starting to escalate. When he is handed a tumbler, Sherlock takes a tentative sip while John sits in the chair opposite, fixing him in a stern glare.</p><p>"Just when were you going to tell me that you've been thinking about leaving King's?"</p><p>"I'm <em>not</em>, and that's the whole point! I tried to tell you last night but, if you remember, you told me to get off the line so you could take a call to save you from having to stay in."</p><p>"For Christ's sake, Sherlock! This is important enough that you should have called me back. This is just so sudden and absurd. A new post at Ormond Street… Who put that idea into your head?"</p><p>It stings a bit, the idea that John thinks he couldn't have come up with it himself, or that someone has roped him into this against reason. The insinuated belittlement prickles and something of his disappointment may be showing in his expression since John suddenly rolls his eyes in exasperation. "We're a team, you and me. And not just because we're married. We work together, and anything like this would have a huge impact on all parts of our life. I would have thought you'd have had the decency to talk to me first before seeing anyone at Ormond Street."</p><p>Flailing internally, all Sherlock can offer is a weak, "But…" before John interrupts him. He had not scouted around for this position — Stella had practically ambushed him with it!</p><p>John isn't done berating him. "Unsurprisingly, you've decided something like this without even bothering to consider what it might mean to me."</p><p>"I have <em>not </em>decided! Not yet. This… now… we need to talk about it."</p><p>The angrier John gets, the harder Sherlock is struggling to find the right words — the words he'd rehearsed with Joanna. Defensively, he blurts out, "I was at GOSH because of my valve research, and then Stella just sprang this idea on me. I didn't know this was what she wanted to see me about, and she  wasn't even the one who booked the meeting; upon seeing her, I assumed it was some scheme of Violet's. I didn't go there to talk to anyone about any position. There was just the workspace for the research I needed to sort out, but suddenly I'm being coaxed into lead a whole new unit! I didn't know what to think."</p><p>How can he make a sensible argument when John is looking at him like that — like he's already done something terribly wrong. "This is the first time I've had a chance to sit down with you, but instead of talking about it calmly and rationally, we're arguing. You're <em>yelling</em>," Sherlock complains.</p><p>John takes another slug of the malt and then does one of his tight little nods with his chin up. "No, I'm not yelling. I'm cross, but I'm not yelling. I don't yell when I get angry."</p><p>"Yes, you do."</p><p>John does a thing Sherlock has seen many times before: he readjusts his stance, sniffs, and his mouth tightens. He <em>is</em>still very angry, and he has most certainly yelled at Sherlock before.</p><p>"Joanna thought I needed to have a think on what to say before talking to you. She felt that you could help me decide because that is turning out to be very difficult."</p><p>John shakes his head. "I am not going to pretend that I'm not hurt by the fact that I seem to be the last to know about this."</p><p>Once again on the defensive, Sherlock sighs. "I wanted to talk to Joanna about the idea so that I could clarify my own thoughts about it."</p><p>"Oh, I see." John is doing that angry nodding thing again. "You can find time to talk to Lady Wolfson, and you can take time to talk to Doctor Pichler, but you can't be bothered to talk to me. That sort of puts me in my place, doesn't it."</p><p>There is an accusation in that comment that is not framed as a question. Somehow, John has decided that there is blame to be doled out and is trying to twist things so that it belongs with Sherlock. Maybe it's best to try to find a way to take the steam out of this conversation. "I had to speak to Stella because she was the one who made the offer. I wanted to talk to Joanna to plan how to present the idea to you."</p><p>"Going well for you then, this conversation?"</p><p>"No, it isn't, because you are being emotional instead of practical. Putting aside how you learned about this proposal — and it is only a proposal at this stage — what is it that bothers you about the idea of me spending two days a week on research away from King's?"</p><p>John takes another sip of whisky. When he's swallowed, he looks up again at Sherlock. He seems to have willed himself to calm down a bit. "Let's start over at the beginning. All I know is that you've been offered a research post for two days a week. What's involved?"</p><p>"The Dahl Foundation is funding a Hydrocephaly Research Centre of Excellence inside the Steadman Unit. They want me to head up the design team," Sherlock repeats.</p><p>"<em>Head up</em>? What does that mean?"</p><p>"Recruit a team, manage it, set up the programme, get it started, all that stuff."</p><p>John seems stunned. "How many people are involved?"</p><p>"Don't know for sure yet. Admin people and designers… more than five but less than ten is likely by my estimate. And students and trainees."</p><p>"Who's doing the recruitment?"</p><p>"Me, with whomever I choose as the key people."</p><p>John's eyes widen. "And managing all of these people then, too, once the unit's up and running?"</p><p>Rather forcefully and with a dollop of defiance thrown in for good measure, Sherlock says, "Yes."</p><p>"And you have no problem with that idea, hmm?"</p><p>Sherlock takes a moment or two to put his thoughts in order. This conversation is still not going that way he wants it to. He doesn't feel as though John is helping him make a sound, informed decision based on facts, just trying to shoot the whole thing down. "You seem to be implying that I would have a problem?"</p><p>John puts his drink down on the small, wooden Indian side table next to his chair. Leaning forward, he puts his elbows on his knees and says, "You're the one who once insisted you didn't want to take responsibility for even just one trainee; I distinctly remember the whole nightmare of you refusing to deal with Alice. And you're the one who just yesterday offended the nurse sent from the agency to cover for Marie, to whom you outsource patient communication as much as you can during your clinics. I'm not <em>implying</em> anything, Sherlock, just reminding you of things that you've said in the past about how you prefer to practice medicine. Do <em>you</em> think there could be a problem, or are you just chasing this shiny thing and ignoring all the inconvenient facts?"</p><p>This is exactly what Sherlock had been worried about at the session this afternoon with Joanna. First, he'd not been able to put things into words the way that he'd wanted, and now his fumbling explanation is being thrown in his face. What John is saying he agrees with; he shares those exact worries. He <em>wants</em> to be a person who could do this new job, but the question remains whether he <em>can</em> be? Is there any way to estimate whether that could be possible without delegating all the human factors involved to be managed by others?</p><p>"Stella knows what I am like. She doesn't mince her words, and she wants what's best for GOSH. She would have considered these facts before endorsing me," Sherlock argues. Quietly, he then adds, "I learned something important when working with Alice. That I can do things I always assumed went above my head. Running away wasn't an option then, and I managed to make it work. You've always pushed me to try stuff I've assumed beyond me. Even if I need advice and support more than others for certain things, it doesn't mean I shouldn't do them."</p><p>"No, of course not. You did well with Alice, but this is a lot different. I'm really surprised you're not sounding as sceptical about managing a group of people as you were about training just one."</p><p>"Instead of reminding me of my failures, I had hoped you might have seen the progress I have made recently."</p><p>A furrow of pain crosses John's forehead. "I'm not trying to run you down, Sherlock — just trying to help you see some reality here. It must be flattering to be approached like this — head-hunted for a position that hasn't even been advertised. It would be tempting for anyone, particularly as this is a jump up a lot of the usual rungs in the ladder that most people have to climb one at a time even when they're professional administrators. I'm not surprised that they're trying to recruit you for something like this, but not even Stella knows you the way I do. Yes, absolutely, kudos to you for getting the offer. But you shouldn't let that blind you to the problems that are going to come with it."</p><p>"Such as? Be specific, John."</p><p>If there is a challenge in his tone, Sherlock doesn't care. Joanna Pichler is not naive, and she'd want Sherlock to avoid unnecessary disappointments just as much as John would, but she isn't this sceptical. Sherlock is disappointed that John seems to have joined the ranks of all those people who want to tell him not to try things because he's "not good at" doing what is necessary. Does John only believe he can manage when supervised? That carries echoes of his family telling him not to do medicine, not to choose surgery, not to go beyond the limitations they have set for him in their minds.</p><p>Sherlock decides he should be rather proud of himself for having anticipated that John's reaction could be problematic. Such things fall under the realm of other people's feelings and motives, and this is a promising example that he can learn to anticipate people's responses and manage the outcome. Not that he knows how to resolve this problem with John's scepticism now that it has been brought to light. <em>Small steps</em>, he remembers Joanna repeating to him when he rants about Violet. <em>Why must people be so slow at readjusting their opinions?</em></p><p>That seems to be the underlying theme here because what John exclaims in reply to his question is: "<em>People</em>! You know those creatures that are constantly annoying you, whose brains are so inferior to yours that you throw a hissy fit having to explain things to them? If it isn't colleagues like Anderson or trainees like Alice, it's patients who have real, live emotions that clog up the arteries of your thinking processes and get in the way of the procedures that you are so very capable of doing in the operating theatre. Research inevitably involves other people, so this new programme comes with those pesky things attached to it."</p><p>"Just because I haven't managed people in the past doesn't mean I can't do it at all, John."</p><p>John pinches the bridge of his nose. "No, but why… Why would you want to make your life so much harder than it already is? Is it worth it, if it takes every bloody ounce of brainpower and energy you've got to survive that aspect of the job before you even get to the part that you're really there for and enjoy — the research?"</p><p>Sherlock lets out a breath. John is right, but John is also wrong. And this is not helping the decision-making in the slightest. "It could be a fixed-term thing. I could demand an automatically expiring contract."</p><p>"Some inbuilt escape tunnel isn't going to make it easier to actually do it, and I don't want to see you upset if it all goes tits-up," John pleads. "I bet everyone sometimes wishes we could just sort just out the concrete stuff and not have to deal with people's problems and assumptions and demands and just the… plain humanity of healthcare. If I find it really hard sometimes, and time-consuming, then how would you…"</p><p>He trails out, but then a determined light seems to come on in his gaze. "What would you do if one of your underlings went through a messy divorce? What if one of them was the subject of a court case? Got into a conflict with their PhD supervisor? Had a booze problem that was affecting their work motivation? There's no manual for that stuff, Sherlock — you just have to wing it. To be there for them. To <em>want</em> to be there for them and not just try to swat that nuisance away."</p><p>"I could ask you for help," Sherlock admits.</p><p>"That's the thing. I won't <em>be</em> there. And if your knee-jerk reaction is to come to me while declaring you can do this and learn and work on it, then do you see the problem?"</p><p>Sherlock feels as though there are two warring factions in him — one listening to Joanna, who is undoubtedly a realist but never this discouraging. Then there's the one listening to John who wants what's safe and familiar and is telling him not to reach for the bloody Moon.</p><p>"Maybe that's what I need — a chance to get away from what you so blithely call my <em>knee jerk</em> reactions," Sherlock counters. "To find other ways to make my own decisions. You might see this as a problem, but I'm still thinking of it as an opportunity."</p><p>"Made your mind up already, have you? In which case, why are we having this conversation?"</p><p>"Because I value your opinion. Because I love you. Because things we do in our professional lives need to be considered in the context of our relationship, which is something I realised on my own the instant this proposition was brought to me. I didn't stop you from going to Afghanistan.  We went together to Malosa, and that was better because we made the decision together. You were sceptical about my abilities to cope there and look what happened. And, you've voiced your surprise at how I managed at Camp Bastion."</p><p>John sets his empty whisky glass down. "This has just taken me by surprise, and…"</p><p>Sherlock interrupts. "Me, too. Out of the blue. I need to find out more, of course, I do. But I thought you'd want to help me think it through. Not because I'm incapable of making the decision, but because I thought you'd want to be a part of my thinking."</p><p>John raises his hands in surrender. "I do. Just… be careful, love. Things can get out of hand pretty damn fast once it gets out that you are considering this. Once the genie is out of the bottle, it's bloody hard to stuff it back in if you get cold feet."</p><p>Sherlock is profoundly baffled. "Genies with cold feet?"</p><p>John chuckles and Sherlock can breathe a bit easier because it means the anger's gone. "Yeah, um, mixing metaphors. Never mind that," John laughs.</p><p>"I'll try to find out more tomorrow. I promised to take over a call shift from eight in the evening onwards tomorrow so that Lestrade can catch a flight to Munich; it should be possible to find time to talk to people in the afternoon at the Dahl Foundation and Sean Murphy at Steadman to see what is actually involved."</p><p>"Should I say something to Lestrade? I don't want him to think that I'm — that <em>we're </em>— lying to him."</p><p> Sherlock shrugs. "Tell him the truth. That I haven't applied, but I've been approached and am in the process of making a decision. King's needs to approve it, too, and though Stella said initial negotiations have been done at the top level, Lestrade is one of the people who will need to approve the split contract. Whatever you do, make sure you tell him that it still involves the majority of my time at King's. I don't want that to change. If GOSH was asking me to work there full-time, I'd say no. Tell him that."</p><p>"Okay." John gets up and collects their glasses. "Time for bed. I need to get my sleep pattern closer to normal before tomorrow."</p><p>Sherlock reaches for his laptop, but John snatches it from him. "Nope. You need to sleep, too, and unless you come to bed with me, you're just going to google things and whip yourself up into a tizz about this whole thing."</p><p>"You're not going to make me watch that baking-off thing on your tablet again, are you?"</p><p>"<em>Bake-off</em>. It put you to sleep the last time."</p><p>"Because it's hideously boring and unintelligent."</p><p>"It's just people baking."</p><p>"I rest my case."</p><p>"And now we're going to rest your brain as well." John reaches out a hand. "Come on."</p><p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Redefining Boundaries</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It's six in the morning, and John is trying to wake up over a breakfast that involves copious quantities of coffee. His mind is still picking over ideas he's been wrestling with most of the night. They had both slept restlessly, and at one point, Sherlock had invaded his half of the bed and wrapped himself around him like a human-sized remora. When John had got too warm, he'd gently shoved his husband back to his own side.</p><p>Once the coffee has percolated, he goes back to the bedroom to shake Sherlock's shoulder where he's now sprawled on his stomach across the entire expanse of the bed. The answer John gets is a flailing, floppy hand attempting to swat him away.</p><p>Finally, with only ten minutes to spare for food and caffeine before they need to leave, Sherlock emerges with his hair styled, wearing a form-fitting black suit with an emerald shirt. He yawns and accepts a mug of black coffee with two sugars and then declines toast and everything else John offers that could be prepared in just a few minutes.</p><p>Sherlock's appetite is his emotional weather wane.</p><p>John clears his throat. "I know you're going to get more information today but help me understand what it is about the offer that is enticing you," he tries.</p><p>He knows he needs to try to avoid emotive language. Yesterday, he'd been so tired and thrown off balance by the news that he knows he might have been a bit… brutally critical. Challenging something Sherlock proposes head-on can result easily in the man becoming rather defensive and even mulish. It is both a strength and a weakness: on the one hand, Sherlock's determination to succeed in something when others think he can't do it is what has made him the man he is today, and John highly respects and loves that in his partner. On the other hand, that stubborn determination can make Sherlock a bit unrealistic and blind him to potential difficulties. He has a tendency to put himself under too intense a pressure without realising he's crumbling under it before it's too late. What had happened two Christmases ago with Violet is a good example, and so is how stressed Sherlock had been when building the international network for his research project. John worries about his husband; he can't help that. It's part and parcel of loving him.</p><p>Sherlock finishes his coffee and puts the mug down. "The idea of having earmarked time each week for research is appealing."</p><p>"You can get research leave granted at King's. What would be different at GOSH?"</p><p>"It's <em>leave</em>. That's the whole problem in a nutshell. I have to stop operating and then have a block of days stretching out in front of me, during which I am supposed to cram in an ungodly amount of research work, only to then forget about most of what I've done when I go back to clinical work and have to wait until I can return to thinking about my projects. During those leaves, I end up procrastinating, thinking I have lots of time to write up a few articles, do a bit of pottering about. I sit at home because I can't concentrate in a shared office at the hospital. Nothing gets done until I panic about the leave ending, and then I work like I am demented to push out another article. When I get back from leave, I worry about what's happened in the interval. If there's been a long leave, it takes me ages to settle down and feel comfortable again in theatre."</p><p>"So you're saying that having two days set aside each week will make it all better?"</p><p>"Yes. I think so. The long gaps between research leave mean I've not been able to keep focused; the interruptions to my train of thought mean I'm less creative."</p><p>John considers that and concludes that it does make sense. While he can be the patron saint of irregularity and spontaneity when it comes to food and sex, certain routines matter to Sherlock, especially when they have to do with work. "Are you sure two days are enough — that it won't bleed into your free time and your King's days? And trying to cram in all of your clinical work into three days…"</p><p>"Obviously Lestrade will have to prioritise my more demanding cases."</p><p>"And spare you from '<em>the tedious bane of spinal nonsense suited for surgeons like Anderson for whom even mediocrity is an unattainable fantasy</em>," John quotes with a chuckle.</p><p>Tentatively, he then brings up his biggest worry: "What about the people thing? Having to work with others has never been something you've looked for before. What makes you think this would be different?"</p><p>"You've helped me see things differently about how I relate to people." The smile that accompanies this confession is tentative and shy.</p><p>John flashes a reassuring one in reply, encouraging Sherlock to continue with a nod.</p><p>"Being in a leading position and being allowed to pick my own team should prevent some issues. Despite my initial worries, the sessions with Joanna have helped. A lot of the communication challenges that I've had are always going to be there, but I am beginning to realise that there are ways around them. I can't spend my whole career trying to avoid people. In the past, my research has been something I've done on the side, on my own, in my own time, my own way. But it can't continue like that because the scale is getting too big and I am neither an engineer nor a microbiologist so certain issues I can't resolve without collaboration. I think it's time I recognised that if I am going to be a part of such smart shunt development, I have to work with others. I'm hoping that if I want it badly enough, I will be able to do this. I wonder if I will ever get another chance like this to structure something the way I want it."</p><p>"Is that what you are going to talk to the Steadman people about today?"</p><p>Sherlock nodded. "It may be the only opportunity I ever get to put in place the things that are necessary if I'm to do collaborative research."</p><p>"Just promise me one thing."</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"Don't agree to anything today. Not before we've had time to think this through together."<br/><br/></p><p>__________________<br/><br/></p><p>"Thank you for agreeing to see me at such short notice."</p><p>It's what Sherlock knows he should say; he's learned enough scripting to manage the platitudes that people seem to expect at the start of every conversation.</p><p>Seamus Murphy points at the chair opposite him and says, "It's me who's got to apologise for not bringing this up before you met with Lady Wolfson on Wednesday. The Dahl Foundation people were pleased to have her on board in presenting the idea; she told us your families have a long association. I guess the fact that you are here means it worked."</p><p>"Not <em>exactly</em>. I need to know more about this before a decision can be made. Lady Wolfson is not a medical practitioner; she doesn't know what is involved. Do you?" He hopes his bluntness cuts through all the time-wasting chitchat about that people indulge in; Sherlock needs answers before he can begin to think this through logically.</p><p>Perhaps a little startled, Murphy stiffens a bit. "What did she tell you?"</p><p>"Two days a week at the new unit to set up a smart shunt research project under the aegis of the Dahl Foundation. I'd continue my clinical duties at King's the other three days a week."</p><p>Murphy nods. "Steadman will provide space and admin support to the project as part of our Paediatric Neurosurgery Unit here. The existing GOSH Neurology department will move into our new building, and there will be a new clinical ward added. It makes sense to house the Dahl design project here, too. "</p><p>Sherlock is looking around the meeting room. GOSH has a tendency to go for bright primary colours and child-like décor even in its staff areas. He supposes it is designed to remind medical practitioners that their patients are not adults, but often creates an eyesore. He hopes that the new unit will be less garish than the meeting room's combination of bright green and yellow. He makes a mental note to demand to have input in interior design choices — especially lighting — if he's to accept the position.</p><p>He returns to his mental list of questions: "What size team do you envisage?"</p><p>Murphy smiles. "That's up to you. You set the key objectives, propose a research timeline, identify how you intend to measure progress, specify who and what you need to make it happen. The only thing that the Dahl Foundation has set in stone is that your work has to focus on a <em>new</em> design, not just a tweak to one of the existing approaches. As I understand, Rob van Hoek announced two years ago Steadman's commitment that our unit at GOSH wants to design, build and test a smart shunt. They are willing to put their money where their mouth is, so if the Dahl funds aren't enough to fund your proposal, they'll cover the shortfall. So, together we want you to get going on it. Head it up."</p><p>"I have more questions."</p><p>"Fire away. I am not a clinician, but I know a lot of people who are, so if I can't answer, I will find someone who can."</p><p>"As the announcement was made two years ago, what has the Steadman Company been doing on the smart shunt project in the meantime?"</p><p>He laughs. "Well, to hear John Stavenage's take on it, diddly-squat. He is a Mancunian and a bit of a rough diamond.  He told me that the, quote: 'half-arsed efforts' to put together a US-based team fell apart at the seams. Too many egos in the room, John says. That's when van Hoek insisted that you are the one to kick-start this project."</p><p>"How will the proposed role fit into the Steadman Paediatric Neurosurgery Unit?"</p><p>"You will report to the Clinical Director of the Unit, but otherwise operate independently of the other departments. The Research Director will also be involved, but more in the way of making sure you have what you need. All of the unit's research work will be able to call on GOSH's pool of resources — including things like regulatory compliance, intellectual property rights, certification procedures, administration and the like. It's up to you in your proposal to specify what you need and what relationships you think would be helpful.  I've been told basically to let you loose as head of research."</p><p>"Who's going to be the Clinical Director of the unit?"</p><p>"It's still in progress and therefore confidential. GOSH is currently looking at four candidates, but the pool may be widened."</p><p>"Are any of them specialists in paediatric hydrocephaly?"</p><p>He smiles. "I couldn't possibly say. What I can say is that your existing shunt puts you in the driving seat on this project, so you have nothing to fear from whoever does get the Clinical Director role. At this stage, we are also more than willing to perk up our ears if you have any good candidates in mind."</p><p><em>Clinical Director</em>. The words ricochet around Sherlock's head. <em>John isn't much for research, but if I insisted that I need him…</em> He shakes his head. Trying to get John recruited would nullify all of his attempts at proving he can function without his husband. He'd only be hiding behind John's back again, and it would also make Lestrade angry as hell if he lost John because there is no way that a Clinical Director position could be a part-time arrangement. Would John even want to be in charge of something as big as the Steadman Unit? Unlikely. In an open competition for the clinical director of a neurosurgery department, the person chosen will probably be a specialist surgeon and not an anaesthetist. Pushing John forward only to have him be turned down would not look good.</p><p>Having dismissed that idea, Sherlock returns to his mental list of questions. "Is two days a week going to be enough? Or is this really a full-time job for forty per cent of the pay that I'm somehow expected to cram into two weekdays and both weekend days?"</p><p>Murphy gives a little shrug. "That's the point of giving you control of the timetable. If you put in too much, too fast, then you have only yourself to blame. I was told that it would be unlikely you'd accept the opportunity if it didn't allow you to continue your clinical career."</p><p>"How much of that time is going to be eaten up by bureaucratic drivel rather than the brainwork involved in design? GOSH is an NHS Trust, and the only thing I trust the system to do well is to bury any supervising staff under so much paperwork that it eats into all the more important things — such as making sure patients get treated in a timely manner or research is actually conducted."</p><p>"You tell us what you need to free you from that. You can call on the GOSH Joint Research and Development Team's resources and have some of your own, too. It's up to your scoping proposal and the budget. I can tell you that, after two years of wasting time, Steadman is keen to get on. The Dahl Foundation's involvement is a real fillip, and they also want you because they think you are motivated by design making a difference — just like Dahl."</p><p>"That statement stinks of an inbuilt assumption that I will participate in PR work."</p><p>"Some would be involved, yes, but only once there is a design. That's part and parcel of being head of a research programme that will attract press attention."</p><p>Sherlock chooses to ignore the furrows that are appearing on Murphy's forehead. Maybe he doesn't like the questions? So what; Sherlock needs answers, and he's going to keep asking.  "How much interference will there be regarding recruitment of lower-tier team members?"</p><p>Murphy shrugs again. "As you just pointed out, we're NHS, so normal recruiting methods apply, as do pay scales. That being said, you can encourage particular candidates to apply, and you will be part of the decision-making panel. Obviously, for researchers, PhD students and the like, your opinion will matter more than say, for clinical consultants, but given that you have the backing of both Steadman and the Dahl Foundation, I can't see this being a problem."</p><p>"What about the ProCoreValve multicentre research study? When you and I spoke the day before yesterday, you were enthusiastic about progress so far. I can't see me continuing to manage that at the same time as getting this one scoped. You must be effectively asking me to abandon my current work just as it comes to fruition, in exchange for something that hasn't even got onto a drawing board."</p><p>From what Sherlock can tell, Murphy seems uncomfortable with the way the conversation is going. Or is he projecting his own anxieties onto the man? It is so hard to tell in these situations what is a genuine reaction from the person with whom he is attempting to converse and what are his own reactions being foisted on that person. He ends up looking away from the man and trying to calm himself down.</p><p>Calmly, Murphy answers, "Well, I seem to recall you telling me that there's a lot of handle-turning at the moment. The data is coming in, and the PhD students are crunching the numbers. If you can put in place a successor to manage the last stages of the clinical analysis, then it shouldn't pose too much of a problem. You'll still get the final say on anything that comes out because it's still your valve. Any research outcomes, papers and the like are going to have your name on them." Murphy leans back in his chair. "Forgive me for asking, but these questions of yours… you're framing them in a rather negative way. Are you looking for a reason to turn this down, Mister Holmes?"</p><p>How on earth is he going to be able to explain his real worry?  "<em>Please can you tell me how you think someone with my communication deficits is going to be able to make this work? Don't you know who and what I am?" </em></p><p>Sherlock draws a breath and replies, "I'm not being <em>negative.</em> I am being <em>thorough. </em>Anyone who is going to work with me needs to understand how I function best. That applies to you as well, by the way, now that the ProCoreValve project has been moved here, irrespective of what happens on the Smart Shunt design project."</p><p>He wonders if he should signal with some body language that he thinks this is important. Leaning forward and lifting his eyes, Sherlock says, "That's one advantage of this being a start-up; I can build those things in. But, if other people want to impose their own views on how this should function, then it's probably not going to work for me. So, I am not going to apologise for conducting my due diligence here. Being sceptical and demanding now will save us all a lot of trouble."</p><p>"Fair enough. Anything else you need to know at this stage?"</p><p>Mindful of his promise to John, Sherlock replies, "I need time to think this through. How urgent is it that I give you a decision?"</p><p>"I haven't been given a timetable but obviously, given the delay so far, the Steadman people want an answer soon. So do the Dahl Foundation. If you don't take the offer, then it will probably have to be advertised, and the whole recruitment process started. Maybe the better question is for me to ask how long do you think it will take you?"</p><p>"I can get back to you in a week's time."</p><p>"That's fine. Any other questions come up, just phone me, and I'll do what I can to answer."</p><p><br/>__________________<br/><br/></p><p>Sherlock doesn't rush home. He doesn't call or text John. Instead, he takes a walk around Queen Square. When he was first working at the National, the park had been a refuge for him whenever the noise, pressure and confusion of work had become too much for him to handle.  After three circuits, he takes a seat on a bench. Letting his eyes idly take in the sight of people in the park, he takes time to think things through.</p><p>Something that Murphy said has stuck in his mind: '<em>negative</em>.'  Why was he like that, then — assuming the worst, probing for pitfalls and problems — when at home he'd been much more positive about the idea when he'd been talking to John about it? What's wrong with him that he can't seem to decide whether this is something he should accept with open arms or something that he needs to push away? </p><p>The only certain thing is that he's still conflicted. After the hiccups around Christmas, things have settled down, and he's getting on much better at King's. Will this totally upend routine and make life difficult? Will Lestrade and his colleagues be upset about this? How will it affect how he and John relate to one another? So many questions and there is no real way to answer any of them unless and until he says yes. One thing he does know is that assuming the worst is not always a useful strategy. There is a thin line between it and catastrophising.</p><p>The idea of being able to scope the entire project, to control it and to specify the team he wants — to be able to <em>recruit</em> that team — means that whoever comes on board will know what they are getting into. Sherlock is under no illusions that he is easy to work with, but within this project, he could make it clear what he expects from people and what they can expect from him. <em>If I could only manage to communicate those things in a way that won't draw embarrassing attention to certain things about me. </em>He's surprised to find the idea of being able to manage people's expectations before they blow up in his face exhilarating. Not having to deal with other people's assumptions about his being neurotypical and then not having to cope with their difficulties in accommodating his needs—this project could free him from that burden.</p><p>Still, it would be difficult to coordinate things between his King's work and GOSH; admin people at both ends would need to work together. He wonders how Marie would take it if his outpatient clinic work was curtailed because his caseload lightened. Wouldn't the most likely be relieved?</p><p>Taking this job would mean that John would no longer have to see it as his constant role to 'clean up Sherlock's messes'. While that might happen during his days at King's, John won't be there at GOSH. Isn't that what John has been hoping for — that Sherlock took full charge of how he communicated with people? Being more responsible for his own actions is something that Joanna has helped Sherlock understand. She had not promised him he would be successful, simply encouraged him to put his skills to the test. Even if they couldn't be guaranteed success, other people wouldn't reject such as offer, would they?</p><p>Sherlock is well aware that this change would put different stresses and strains on his home life. Even if he does build into the research programme the professional support that will free him to do more of the design work, could he use this as an opportunity to re-balance some of the responsibilities of his home life with John? He will be terribly busy if he accepts the offer. Is there anything he could do to make managing his tasks and time easier at home as well as at work?</p><p>There is a little tableau unfolding in front of him, and he gets momentarily distracted from his thinking. A young mother with a baby in a pushchair is talking on her phone and has managed to lose eye contact with her toddler who is slowly following. The little boy — <em>can't be more than four</em>, Sherlock guesses — has left the pavement and gone off onto the grass in the centre of the square.  Sherlock wonders how long it will be before she notices.</p><p>"Timmy! You get over here this instant! Don't get muddy!" She leaves the baby in the pushchair and marches onto the grass, still keeping the phone up to her ear. "Hang on; the kid's done a runner."</p><p>She jogs to Timmy, grabs his hand and drags him off the grass. Predictably, Timmy starts to cry. As she passes Sherlock, he can hear her talking on the phone again. "Bloody hell. I cannot wait for the au pair service to get me a replacement for Danuta. I need someone to keep Timmy occupied and sorted; he starts nursery school in a couple of weeks, and I am desperate for some help in the house.  Not fair to ask Tom to do it all; he's such a brick, but he's got a life, too. The baby is just too demanding for me to be able to manage him, the kid and a husband. Look, I'll call back. Need both hands. Bye for now."</p><p>As she moves off, crying child on one hip and pushing the baby with the other, Sherlock considers the situation. At least the seven-year gap between him and Mycroft had been easier to manage for his parents. With a smirk, he realises that he and John could do with an au pair, too, if they truly are such a help around the house and with guaranteeing their employers a respite. That, combined with thinking about his own mother who always did everything herself, makes him remember the Christmas gift from her a year and a half ago.</p><p>It was a gift card to a concierge service that promised '<em>to do whatever you need</em>'. </p><p>He finds himself wondering how that would work, but his contemplations are interrupted by his brother's name flashing on his phone screen after he feels it vibrating in his jacket pocket. Grimacing, Sherlock takes the call; Mycroft will just try again if ignored.</p><p>His brother knows better than to beat around the bush or succumb to the lure of empty niceties at the start of a conversation. "I'm calling about John's birthday. Have you got something planned or ideas for a suitable gift?"</p><p>A momentary panic surges through Sherlock. He's certain he'd put an alert on his calendar two weeks before John's birthday. He may have dismissed that warning last week when he was knee-deep in work; he's not sure. What the hell is he going to get John?</p><p>"I was thinking," Mycroft starts in his usual smugly grandiose manner, "that I might offer you two my Marseille residence for a long weekend. You can say the indulgence is from both of us."</p><p>Sherlock grits his teeth. He <em>loves</em> that house and John does, too. It's the notion of not having come up with anything gift-worthy before Mycroft leapt to his rescue without asking that grinds against his sense of husbandly duty. "I have a gift for him," he protests. "But it would go well with a weekend getaway."</p><p>"Excellent! I'll have Quincy call you to iron out the details."</p><p>"Quincy is your assistant?"</p><p>"One of them, yes."</p><p>"Are they all… necessary?"</p><p>"Of course they are," Mycroft replies incredulously. "Any high-powered person in a leading position would tell you that having at least one person who manages your calendar and mediates the interface between your personal and professional lives is vital."</p><p>Sherlock doesn't need someone to <em>mediate an interface</em> — he needs someone to help him not be a serial offender in pissing his spouse off. "What personal life would that be? You live alone and collect houses for a hobby," he teases his brother. He knows Mycroft has a vast network of friends and a lot of charity engagements.</p><p>"One of which you want to borrow presently, so <em>behave, brother mine</em>. Might I suggest that you book a winery tour for the two of you as a part of a joint present?"</p><p>"Nothing spells romance more than a tipsy bus ride back to town with other tourists," Sherlock complains. "John does like that sort of thing. He <em>talks</em> to people on buses."</p><p>"Allow the man his foibles, and he will allow yours. Or hire a private car with a driver. I must dash. Be well. Quincy will ring you."</p><p><br/>__________________<br/><br/><br/></p><p>The two doctors catch up at King's around three in the afternoon. John is heading home, and Sherlock has thirty minutes to spare before he's on call. John fetches them mugs of tea, and they sit down at his office.</p><p>Sherlock had hoped that John would be supportive of his idea to investigate the concierge idea as a way to help make the offer more palatable, but John turns out to be resistant. Sherlock introduces the concept in a circumspect way, saying he's considering hiring a personal assistant.</p><p>Sipping his tea, John says, "So, you just want to give up on trying to manage things yourself? How is that serving your plan of showing everyone you can take on more responsibility?"</p><p>"It's not giving up! I'm not delegating the important parts — I'm making sure I get to focus on those by getting help on the other stuff."</p><p>"And nod off on top of your laptop when you don't know when to stop working."</p><p>"John, I'm… I won't stop being <em>me</em>. No amount of trying will change me to some household wonder to whom it occurs to buy toilet rolls and go to sleep at a decent hour when I'm engaged in something that I find interesting. Shouldn't the end results matter? If there was a way to ensure we could have it easier at home even when I'm taking a step forward in my career… if I could give enough attention to this new project <em>and</em> manage still working at King's <em>and</em> make sure we have enough time together…"</p><p>"That sort of juggling isn't very you. I don't <em>mind</em>, Sherlock, even if I sometimes complain, but our current level of chaos is the limit for me. And I think it's for you, too, stress-wise."</p><p>"It's a question of priorities. Having an assistant with the right skill set would allow me to eliminate those parts of the stress which I don't need and help me prove that I can juggle things if I really make an effort."</p><p>John's head tilts a bit, and an endeared smile has spread on his features. "You don't need to prove anything to me. You know that, don't you?"</p><p>"I wasn't referring to just you. Yes, this change involves us both, but this is about me. This is about not wanting to waste time feeling guilty for certain things not occurring to me, and for the time it would take to do those things."</p><p>"Sounds like you have a plan in mind."</p><p>"Yes. I assume you remember my mother's unfortunate Christmas gift from a year and a half ago? Perhaps, at least until the starting phase of the GOSH project blows over, I could use such an assistant. Not just a secretary at work — there will be one, they promised — but someone to tide over all these transitions and our everyday things. Could make your life easier, too." His conversation with Mycroft had given him food for thought, and he'd called Seamus Murphy to tell him the split contract would certainly require a secretary to handle a lot of the preparatory work for routine admin he'd be expected to sort out. Murphy had readily agreed.</p><p>The look John gives Sherlock is hard to interpret. "I like to think we can manage, love, without some concierge. That's what I told Violet, too."</p><p>"You've said it yourself: this is a bit big to <em>manage ourselves</em>. Do not all major figures in politics and business have assistants? Mycroft has three, and not just because he's a poncy git who enjoys ordering minions around. Children at school with particular… traits have individually assigned assisting personnel." He hadn't wanted to use this example, but perhaps it's what needed for John to understand. "They're not there because nobody believes that those students can't manage — it is simply understood that to be able to perform to the best of their abilities, they need more help than others."</p><p>With this potential solution on the table, the more Sherlock thinks about the GOSH offer, the more he's tempted. It's not the minutiae of that job he worries about; it's combining it with King's and their home life. And for that, no amount of GOSH admin staff will be able to help. He needs something different. Yes, John worries about whether he'll manage in the new position, but some of John's concerns involve how it will affect their relationship. If Sherlock had someone to keep track of what is needed, when and with whom, someone to remind him to do the things he needs to do himself and to delegate the rest and help him balance all that…</p><p>"I don't think what that company does is quite as involved as you think," John dismisses.</p><p>"The service tier my mother gifted us with is not, no. But they offer other levels of services. Pricey, yes, but that is not going to be a problem." His patent royalties have risen as the shunt has been licenced in more and more countries to be used in patient care. And, with the potential of a new patent… Even if he paid an assistant the equivalent of his own NHS salary, he'd still be well above the margin on a yearly level.</p><p>"You've spoken to that service?" John asks. "What did you tell them, exactly?"</p><p>Sherlock had googled the number and called the office after ringing off with Mycroft. Now, he draws a deep breath and says, "The whole truth."</p><p>"You mean you even said that you're––"</p><p>"Yes," Sherlock cuts in before John says it. Some things are still… hard. "And strangely enough, they said that they think they have just the man for the job."</p><p>"You've decided to give this a go, then?" John doesn't sound angry but curious, perhaps even a bit amused.</p><p>"Depends on what happens with the interview with this person. They're sending him round soon. If I think it could work to take some of that stuff off my agenda, then yes, I do want to try. If I wasn't prepared to try things that are demanding, then I never would have taken up medicine, never become a surgeon, and never even attempted to love you and marry you. So far, I've managed. Let's see this person first who they think could be a good fit. I don't have to tell GOSH my decision for another week. "</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Help Arrives</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Two days later, a ring of the doorbell brings them an anticipated visitor: the assistant candidate the concierge service has sent.</p><p>As John swings open the door, standing with his feet firmly planted, he sizes the man up. He doesn't look a day older than twenty-five. He's very lean and not very tall, standing with admirably good posture, though he's shifting on his feet. His straight, black hair is swept carefully up and away in a style intended to look effortless but neat. He is wearing a dark suit made from grey silk — single-breasted, one vent, sharp shoulder padding. <em>Perhaps to hide a weak chest?</em> wonders John smugly. He has learned enough from the sartorially dedicated Sherlock to recognise that this is a sleek Italian look married with English features such as classic, subtle tapering. It has the rare four buttons with the lowest one left undone. To John, this seems like the suit of a man who knows how to buy a suit and can carry even some riskier choices well. There's also a silk tie in lighter grey and a peak lapel instead of the standard notch. The trousers fit the young man's slim figure well; tapered, pleated and cuffed with both slit and button-down pockets. His skin is so flawless that it makes John wonders whether he is wearing a touch of makeup. On the young man's wrist sits a slim watch, and when he straightens a cuff John spots that it's not Swiss but sports two large B:s. John can't quite place the design, though he's certain he's seen it before. <em>Some fashion label?</em></p><p>The man doesn't seem the least bit of put off by John's scrutiny. He lets John take his time, then sticks out his hand for shaking.</p><p>"Edgar Agnew Kingsley the Third at your service," he suggests.</p><p>"The… third?" John asks.</p><p>A delighted flash of a smile. "My father was the second Edgar, my grandfather the first."</p><p>"Right." <em>Explains the slightly aristocratic air. Not what I expected.</em> "John Watson," he finally has the good sense to offer and gets his hand whisked.</p><p>"Delighted to meet you, <em>Doctor</em> Watson."</p><p>John lets go of the man's hand and steps aside with raised brows. "This way." He leads Edgar Agnew Kingsley the Third — <em>who the bloody hell even uses their entire name like that when not even Mycroft does?</em> — upstairs.</p><p>Sherlock is waiting for them just inside the flat, and he intercepts the visitor before he makes his way deeper into their home. "Sherlock Holmes," he introduces, extending a hand that is eagerly clasped and frantically shaken.</p><p>"Edgar Agnew Kingsley, the third of that name."</p><p>"How annoying for you," Sherlock replies dryly.</p><p>John tries to hide the smirk. Sherlock is still sleep-deprived from his second call shift of the week, which means his social skills are even more unlikely to appear. He'd got home two hours earlier. It's still late morning, and John is at home because he's using some of his holiday time.</p><p>Edgar shakes his head. "I'm honoured to be given the family name; it's something to live up to."</p><p>"Sounds kind of established," John comments. "Is it a well-known family?"</p><p>"There's an admittedly sizeable house in Shropshire, but I find it terribly stuffy; something of a crumbling ruin, if truth be told."</p><p>"John is my husband," Sherlock adds, a bit nervously and unnecessarily in John's opinion. Since the candidate had known his title, Sherlock must have briefed the agency about his marital status.</p><p>"Very pleased to meet you, husband John," Edgar Agnew Kingsley replies with a smile and, judging by his tone, there is sincere conviction behind every word.</p><p>The edge of Sherlock's mouth twitches upwards just once. "The Shropshire Kingsleys," he enunciates. "I'm sure my brother would be delighted to look you up in Burke's Peerage. Now, what's a Shropshire Kingsley doing as a personal assistant, then? Has the estate gone the way of so many others; vast but poor?"</p><p>"Sherlock," John mutters. "A bit not good." He steps away from the door, tipping his head toward the kitchen and adopting a tone better suited for the company. "Tea?"</p><p>Edgar is still beaming. "That'd be lovely, thank you. Oh, I don't mind such questions; I will be equally curious regarding your life stories, I assure you."</p><p>John goes back to the kitchen and busies himself with the kettle while Sherlock directs their visitor to an armchair.</p><p>The young man continues his explanation as he perches on the edge of the offered seat, "I have always preferred the urban environment. Much more vibrant, don't you think? Wanted to work in fashion ever since I was allowed to choose my own clothes. Some nannies just don't have <em>any</em> fashion sense at all. There were spirited arguments, I tell you."</p><p>"Why didn't you?" Sherlock asks. "Seek employment in fashion, I mean?"</p><p>"Did the agency not send my CV?" Edgar looks so worried it makes him look even younger to John. "What a terrible oversight; I must apologise. I always carry a copy with me––" he dives into his leather messenger bag which he'd leaned against the chair leg.</p><p>Sherlock stops him with a raised palm and picks up an unopened envelope from the table which he raises momentarily to show the agency label in the corner. "People lie in their CVs."</p><p>Edgar settles back into the chair. "I did work in fashion for several years. My last assistant engagement before this one was with Demna Gwasalia — if you follow the field, you may have heard of him as the head designer for Balenciaga. Perfectly fascinating, but I wanted to return to England once my contract ran out though he did offer me a permanent position." He sighs. "There's nothing quite like London, is there?"</p><p>"An improvement on Shropshire, certainly," replies Sherlock.</p><p>Edgar's eyes sparkle as he continues, “The language side of things in that Balenciaga job proved difficult since that is not exactly my forte; the Italian fashion world tends to look down on anyone who isn't a native speaker. Turns out the precise field of my employer mattered less than I thought — those years with Gwasalia cemented my belief that I enjoy being an executive assistant. I like change, and I like a new challenge; never worked for a physician before. Especially not a neurosurgeon! I must say I find the notion of clinical medicine a bit… off-putting. Messy, if I may. Requires a pretty strong stomach, I'm sure." He clasps his hands around his kneecap, primly lifted onto his other. "But I shall be <em>most </em>excited to learn more about what it is that you do and how I could improve on your daily routines!"</p><p>Sherlock seems to ignore the whole diatribe of great excitement. He crosses his arms and leans a hip against his own armchair. John can tell he's too high-strung by this meeting to sit down.</p><p>"You said that languages are not your forte. What <em>are</em> your particular talents, then? The agency sang your praises as their best personal assistant," Sherlock interrogates.</p><p>"I prefer the term <em>organisational</em> <em>consultant</em>. Perhaps I am the world's only one carrying such a title in this context."</p><p>Sherlock nods. "You invented a better job description — 'the only one in the world'." He looks slightly amused, but not malignantly so.</p><p>Edgar's expression now grows more determined and serious. "The difference between an assistant just barely worthy of their paycheck and a great one is that I don't just meet expressed needs — I build a knowledge base and a system with each client that enables me to <em>anticipate</em> them. Proactive, not reactionary. I like to think of it as disaster prevention instead of having to rely on a proverbial fire extinguisher. And it's not just disaster prevention: some clients prefer that I simply attend to tasks and fulfil wishes, but mostly those I get sent to are receptive to constructive suggestions on better personal management, which of course then makes my job easier. There is also the challenge of tailoring communication to each client and their family members to best provide my assistance and suggestions yet avoid overstepping my mark."</p><p>"That must be challenging," Sherlock readily offers, and finally sinks properly into his chair.</p><p>"It's just one aspect of the job I find so rewarding," Edgar beams.</p><p>John returns with the tea just in time to see his husband blink in utter bafflement at such a statement that someone would consider having to read the room and tailor their communication to other people <em>rewarding</em>. He puts the tray down on the small side table next to Sherlock's chair. Edgar readily accepts a cup which he holds primly, and at John's prompting picks up a HobNob from the plate.</p><p>Sherlock shakes his head at the cup John offers, but John adds sugar to it and leaves it within his husband's reach just the same. John then drags over a chair from the desk and settles into it. "Sherlock said that for your services, the concierge agency charges what they call an executive-level charge instead of the basic package. How does the agency define your services?" John asks, blowing across the milky surface of his own cup.</p><p>"The basic package is well-described with the word 'concierge'. There is a man sitting at a desk, answering calls from clients and sorting out their needs. Imagine… a sort of a secretarial dispatcher; you might get a different person each time. Of course, they send someone to you in person whenever needed, but the sort of one-to-one rapport required for high-quality service isn't there. That's the affordable option, and some find it suits their needs just fine. However, for someone with higher expectations, what is needed is someone working exclusively for that person and <em>with</em> them. The agency said that you would need basic secretarial services three days a week at work, but also wish for assistance in other areas of life." Edgar smiles encouragingly at Sherlock.</p><p>"We'll see about the latter," Sherlock cuts in a bit sharply. "John would be the first to point out that we manage quite alright on our own. However, I am taking on a large work-related project which will decrease the time resources I have available for chores such as personal banking, dry cleaning…"</p><p>"Yes, of <em>course</em>," Edgar practically coos. "I shall be whatever you need me to be. I won't sketch you a package solution here because there isn't one — the key is to chisel this thing out as we get to know one another."</p><p>Sherlock seems to have settled enough to start drinking his tea. "Some kind of a framework of terms must be still discussed in advance, I assume."</p><p>"Quite so. There are limitations which I find are best verbalised ahead of time because — as physicians, you must already know this — people are strange. Best to get those on the table right away before we continue." Edgar draws a deep breath, his crossed foot jiggling. "While I shall need to be thoroughly aware of your dietary and culinary preferences I do not cook, I do not clean, nor do I provide sexual favours."</p><p>John accidentally inhales a bit of tea and coughs. To his annoyance, Edgar looks as amused as well as calm.</p><p>"Yes, it's come up before," the pending assistant assures. "You wouldn't <em>believe</em> what happens behind the scenes of the rag trade, I tell you; many assistants learn from experience that it's best to make such rules explicit rather than implicit. Some people just don't know the difference between <em>concierge</em> and <em>escort</em>. I pity any hotel they stay at; I truly do."</p><p>Sherlock is looking out the window, but John can see that his cupid's bow is slightly tilted in amusement.</p><p>"I have a very strict rule about not getting romantically involved with clients," Edgar continues. "Can't really perform my duties with my head in the clouds, now can I? As for cooking and cleaning, I know where to acquire the services for very qualified people who can do that for you. But, let's crack on with the employment terms. My holidays and days off shall be based on your needs. I will personally arrange a competent holiday cover and never <em>ever</em> turn off my Blackberry. If you feel as though something is imploding, all you need to do is call. I shall instantly abandon what I am doing, hop on a jet if I'm travelling, and zing back, and you shouldn't feel guilty at all for that."</p><p>"I'm sure that won't be necessary," John offers uneasily. <em>Isn't this guy going a bit beyond the line of duty?</em> Then again, John has no idea what the personal assistants of the world's most high-powered executives have to put up with. Maybe they do have to be available 24/7, and they probably also get paid loads for it. <em>Might be an attractive career for someone career-oriented and unattached</em>.</p><p>He refills their tea, and he and Sherlock begin describing their jobs and basic routines. Edgar reaches into his bag again and produces a thick notebook with colour-coded tabs.  Flipping between sections of his notes with practised ease, he carefully jots down every detail of the details they share and the answers they give to his question.</p><p>His enthusiasm reminds John of Sherlock when he gets very excited about something. The difference is that this young man's area of interest seems to be other people, and he's very attentive as opposed to the rather self-centred bubble Sherlock might cocoon into in his enthusiasms.</p><p>"Who does your hair, which is fabulous by the way if I may say so?" Edgar inquires of Sherlock.</p><p>Sherlock opens the address book on his phone to pass on the details, which are written down.</p><p>"How many appointments a week, and on which days?"</p><p>"One appointment a month."</p><p>Edgar's brows hitch up. "You style it yourself?"</p><p>John stands to collect their teacups and can't resist stepping closer to Sherlock's hair to give that beloved mop a gentle ruffle. He has learned to respect the way Sherlock manages to make it look both carefree and coiffed.</p><p>"Yes," Sherlock replies sternly, giving John a disapproving side-eye. After taking a quick shower after returning home, most of the time waiting for Edgar had been spent sorting his curls.</p><p>John grins. He loves the way Sherlock's hair looks after sex; all gloriously messed up by gripping fingers and pressing against pillows.</p><p>Edgar's pen is flying on the notebook page. "Exceptional. Must save you a pretty penny." There doesn't seem to be any sarcasm in the statement. He then flips to a purple tab as John returns from the kitchen. "What would you say are the three most pressing challenges in your life right now, and how could we make them easier?"</p><p>"I would say that the reason for hiring an assistant isn't my current lifestyle but one I am considering, which would involve a novel division of my time between King's College Hospital and Great Ormond Street Hospital for Children. That will entail some level of human resource management, and juggling responsibilities between two different workplaces."</p><p>"And there's the fact that I can't be the keeper of your calendar anymore, or your work crisis negotiator — or your chauffeur," John adds.</p><p>Sherlock is looking at his knees. "Yes, true. In addition to traditional secretarial duties, I might ask for assistance in the HR part. If languages are not your forte, then dealing with people, in general, is not mine. Perhaps a third challenge is that we may need to allocate more purposely time for our relationship. I've been thinking about this a lot. Our commutes have offered a chance to catch up on what has happened during our workdays. That will now only happen three days a week, and I will miss it."</p><p>John is surprised. Oftentimes, Sherlock is tapping away on his tablet while John focuses on navigating the traffic. It's only on their way home that they often talk about this and that, about their cases and their holiday plans and what to have for dinner…</p><p>"I will be outstandingly busy for some time and am aware of my tendency to get absorbed by work and my interests." Sherlock is now looking at John with an expression somewhere between pleading and worried. "It's not easy for me to shift from that to anything else. I don't know if anyone can provide assistance with that, but if I had a system, some manner in which to prepare for…" He sighs. "Lost my train of thought."</p><p>He rarely does. John wonders if he'd had a rare epiphany that what he had been about to say might sound insulting to John. <em>'Prepare for interacting with my husband?'</em></p><p>"I have helped mediate relationship time and activities for many clients. I can ensure that initiating a system of reminders about birthdays, wedding anniversaries, and holiday planning is just the beginning of what can be done to streamline all the non-essentials and help refocus clients' lives," Edgar interjects. "The essential being, of course, the two of you, together."</p><p>"John probably detests that I need such systems and reminders." Sherlock's voice is quiet.</p><p>John places a hand on his shoulder. "What you've just said and what I've learned long ago is that you don't do stuff deliberately. Yeah, you can be a bit like a magpie chasing some shiny new scientific thing, but I know you're not doing it because you want to push me away."</p><p>It feels odd and a little invasive for John to be discussing all this in front of a stranger. He clears his throat and glances at Edgar, who is watching them with a soft smile with not an ounce of judgement.</p><p>Edgar confidently lets the silence continue a moment, then flips a page in his notebook and efficiently steers the conversation to the safer topic of dry-cleaning schedules. Eventually, his list of questions is exhausted, and Edgar looks at Sherlock with a questioning eyebrow. "So, are we ready to make a decision, or to sleep on it?"</p><p>Sherlock has not given Edgar much eye contact before, but he does now. "Is this something that sounds appealing to you?" His tone is a bit detached — as though expecting rejection.</p><p>Edgar closes his notebook and splays his palm on it. "Yes, it does. But this sort of role takes two to be successful, so it is up to you whether you think such a partnership between us is feasible."</p><p>Sherlock gives a quick glance at John as if waiting to see if he has other ideas.</p><p>John shrugs and says, "It's your decision."</p><p>Sherlock looks back to Edgar and says rather tentatively, "I think I need more data. Perhaps you should come to see what my work environment at King's and Great Ormond Street are like and meet some of the other people with whom you will need to coordinate."</p><p>Edgar seems delighted by the proposition. "What's your plan for tomorrow?"</p><p>Since John's morning will start later than usual due to a dental appointment and then returning home since he's on holiday for two more days, it is decided that Sherlock and Edgar will meet at the flat in the morning and continue on to Great Ormond Street to continue Sherlock's negotiations regarding the offer before continuing on to King's.</p><p>That settled, Edgar stands and collects his bag, shakes both their hands and then calls out a quick, “Good day!" as he heads for the door.</p><p>John has to run after him in an attempt to see the man out. "It was good to meet you," he offers.</p><p>"Indeed, most excellent. I shall look forward to working with Doctor Holmes, assuming he accepts the offer."</p><p>"I hope it's––" John trails out. "It's just that he can be a bit––"</p><p>"I've done my homework, Doctor Watson, and he had been very forthcoming about certain details with our agency office. Genius often pairs with unusual habits and preferences as well as personality traits requiring social finesse to work around. I <em>assure</em> you I have worked with challenging individuals before. In fact, I tend to be drawn to people of outstanding intelligence and power, as groupie-like as that may sound. There is always a reason why they have reached as high as they have, and I find it fascinating to get to know such people!"</p><p>"Okay," John replies, lip quirking up slightly as he watches Edgar slip through the front door and stride down the street towards the Baker Street station Tube entrance.</p><p>John makes his way back upstairs while mulling on the encounter. He once again finds himself thinking that Edgar's enthusiasm is oddly reminiscent of Sherlock's interest in medicine — it's just that, instead of concrete facts of science, Edgar seems to be fascinated by people above all. <em>How is he so particularly good at this, then? A bit OCD? What sort of person enjoys organising other people's lives?</em></p><p>Sherlock has opened the lid of his laptop but isn't typing, just staring blankly at the screen. His head snaps up the minute the door clicks closed behind John. "First impressions?"</p><p>John shrugs. "He talks a lot."</p><p>Sherlock hums. "You hate him, then. Pity, really. I thought he seemed quite competent." Sherlock grabs his phone.</p><p>"What? I didn't––"</p><p>"I'm calling the agency. I'm sure they have other candidates."</p><p>John goes to him and pries the phone away. "I didn't <em>hate</em> him; he was just… intense. Did <em>you</em> like him?"</p><p>"Like I said. Competent. But I won't have him intrude in our lives if you dislike him. You were acting somewhat… territorial at certain moments during his visit. I can limit his involvement to that of a stand-in secretary while I recruit someone else."</p><p>"I can't deny that he could be really useful, and I doubt people who are that dedicated are very common, not even in his field. You know it, and I know it. I have no principle that dictates we have to sort out all the chores and household stuff. If an assistant for you can give us more time together, then I'm all for that."</p><p>Sherlock leans his cheek on his fist, looking broodingly thoughtful as he skims the concierge agency website. "Your behaviour signalled you wanted to repel him, yet you are now singing his praises. Odd."</p><p>"It's just… this is kind of personal, the stuff we're already sharing with this guy," John argues, not wanting his motives to be analysed any further.</p><p>"The agency assured me their code of conduct requiring privacy rivals the NHS in client confidentiality."</p><p>"I don't doubt that." <em>Assistants blabbering out secrets of the rich and famous would topple their employer in no time</em>, John reasons. "You weren't ready to say yes just yet, either. If you're having doubts, you could just give him a trial period," John suggests.</p><p>"During which either of us can terminate the deal?"</p><p>John shrugs. "Sure, if you think that's how we should play it. I'm sure he'll grow on me if he's as good as he claims."</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Negotiations</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>John pokes his nose around Lestrade's door. Catching the Head of Neurosurgery at his desk is a rare event, and he wants to take full advantage of it.</p><p>"Greg, can I hijack you for a quick heads-up?"</p><p>"Yeah, sure, as long as you don't mind me getting some in-tray sorting done while you are here. I'll be stuck into a four-vertebrae cervical re-fusion for the rest of the day, and Rhodri's on my case for a bunch of stuff she needs signatures on."</p><p>Rhodri is the Welsh secretary Lestrade shares with another surgical unit head.</p><p>"How was the conference?" John asks. He knows Greg's pile of paperwork growing is probably the result of having spent three days at a neurosurgical convention.</p><p>Lestrade nods. "Worthwhile. Made a number of contacts that could be useful. There was some interesting stuff on a real-time MR image-guided platform for the installation of stimulation electrodes. The stuff these Californians are working on is going to make a huge impact on the treatment of Parkinson's and even depression. Mini-invasive awake craniotomies."</p><p>John huffs. "We can dream."</p><p>The King's College Trust is always leery of investing in new, expensive equipment, and the idea of conducting surgery that is actually inside a scanner is so expensive that it is probably effectively out of reach for the NHS for the time being.</p><p>"Could pioneering something like that being able to expand into epilepsy surgery?" John knows this is something Lestrade has been trying to push for.</p><p>"No. There are already too many centres in London for that, says that weasel they hired as Trust strategist. We just can't seem to find our niche, and Ormond Street's plan for a hydrocephalus unit is kind of the last straw."</p><p>"Still, better MRI navigation should benefit tumour cases, too."</p><p>"I get excited about boys' toys; you know that," Greg grins as he stops separating papers into piles, then gives John a calculating look. "So, what is it this time? Problem?"</p><p>John wonders if he is really that transparent. "Well, Sherlock isn't minded to think of it as such."</p><p>Greg rolls his eyes. "I thought things were getting better. He's been behaving himself so well recently. Christ, even Anderson thinks so."</p><p>"Yeah, well, the problem isn't at King's. You just mentioned Great Ormond Street and well…" John waits for the other shoe to drop, biting the inside of his cheek.</p><p>The colour drains out of Greg's face. "Oh, shit. You're not telling me he is thinking of leaving us?!"</p><p>"Not exactly. Or, rather, not completely. Greg, I <em>swear</em> I didn't know anything when you and I talked about it, but Steadman's unit and the Dahl Foundation have asked him to head up a major research project. Or, more accurately, GOSH wants to hire him as the lead for the hydrocephaly unit's research. It would be two days a week, but Sherlock definitely wants to stay here at King's for the other three."</p><p>"<em>Bastards. </em>Poaching our staff; they should know better."</p><p>"According to Sherlock, GOSH has done some high-level parlay between Trusts and King's has shown the deal some green light since there's already some co-operation between them and us." John lifts his hands up in placation. "I know it's still bloody poaching, but at least they're being polite about it, and sharing."</p><p>"And as usual, middle management like us are kept in the dark." Greg curses under his breath. "No wonder they were telling me to hold off on any new projects at the Board meeting, I quote, 'until some recent developments have been dealt with'. If King's can't manage to build a centre of excellence alone, it wouldn't surprise me if the Board decided to try to piggyback on GOSH."</p><p>"He's worked for them before."</p><p>"Technically pro bono while on King's payroll, with my permission, since it looks good for us." Greg leans back in his chair, the leg of which creaks. "Have you tried to talk him out of it?"</p><p>John sighs. "It's not my place, Greg. I've tried to point out that it would mean he'd be taking on too much, but… you know how self-willed he can be."</p><p>"He's accepted, then." Disappointment takes hold of the senior surgeon's tone. "I thought at least he'd have the decency to talk to me first."</p><p>"No, wait; he's not decided yet. Still 'gathering data', as he calls it. He's over there this morning. I wanted to tell you because it pisses me off that I didn't know until <em>after</em> our conversation. I don't want you to think I was misleading you."</p><p>"You're the most straight-up guy I know. I'm not surprised Sherlock would have scouted this out on his own so that it caught you off-guard, too."</p><p>"That's one thing he's been very clear about: he didn't scout anything out or apply for anything. They approached him. Got an old family friend who's involved with GOSH fundraising to lure him in."</p><p>"I didn't think he was unhappy here, not enough to apply somewhere else. I wonder who the other candidates for that post are."</p><p>"It isn't an open process; he gets first shot. Only if he turns it down will they go to competitive recruitment. And from what he's said, they're offering pretty much anything he wants in terms of people, budget, space. Very few people would say no," John points out.</p><p>Greg's mouth tightens in reluctant agreement.</p><p>"Steadman and Dahl want a smart shunt bad enough that they'll throw anything at him to get him to say yes," John concluded. "Sherlock says there are some rumours about Steadman's prior design team's efforts having imploded."</p><p>Lestrade shakes his head. "You know I can't compete with an offer like that. We don't have the resources, and I need all hands on deck managing our clinical caseload. You're going to tell me that we're lucky to have him even just part-time, aren't you?"</p><p>John shifts in his chair, a bit uncomfortable. "I'd say that would be more <em>reminding </em>you than telling you. You and I both know how good he is."</p><p>He doesn't want to speak for Sherlock; it's going to be up to his husband to sort out his relationship with his boss this time. "I know he doesn't want to give up his clinical work, and that he values what he has here at King's."</p><p>"Then he should be loyal and stick with us. Make them base the project here, instead."</p><p>"That's easy to say, Greg, but you know as well as I do that research gets pushed to the back burner here. The Trust here looks on research grants as an important revenue stream instead of what they're actually for. Steadman has invested millions in the new unit at GOSH, and they are willing to back it with more money for important projects. The Dahl Foundation is funding the design team, and they want Sherlock to run the whole project. It's a whole different mindset. As you said, they're determined enough to become a centre of excellence in paediatric hydrocephaly. It seems that someone higher up the King's rung wants to meet them half-way to share credit."</p><p>"This really does screw us. Damn it, John. He's the star attraction on this team, and has a great future ahead of him here, especially now that he's getting his head around the people issues."</p><p>"My guess is that they wanted him full time, but someone who knows that he turned them down before told them they'd get a better hearing if they offered it as a part-time thing." <em>And packaged it all with the ribbon on top of Stella Wolfson presenting their case.</em></p><p>"So, what do you think I can do to change his mind? What if I were to go bullish and say that the post here is full-time or nothing? I can always argue to the Trust board that we'll get waiting time penalties if I lose sixty per cent of even one surgeon."</p><p>John's eyes widen. He had not counted on that kind of reaction. "Um, would you be prepared to lose him for good?"</p><p>Lestrade's leaned back in his chair. "Don't want to, not at all. Would you? I mean, if he left, would you go with him? Would it mean losing you, too? I know GOSH has been struggling to recruit for anaesthesia for years."</p><p>"Christ, Greg! I don't <em>want</em> to leave. Making me choose between here and Sherlock is… a bit hard to get my head around. If I stayed here, and it became the reason why he turned this offer down, it would mean you were asking Sherlock to choose between furthering his career and working with me. That's not fair, and I wouldn't want him to hold back because of me. The whole point of this is the part-time deal. It means he wouldn't have to choose."</p><p>Greg gives a resigned sigh. "You can't blame me for trying to hang onto him. And you, for that matter. You are both important to the success of this department, and I wish there was a way I could make this whole thing just bloody disappear."</p><p>His phone rings and the ensuing conversation is short. "Theatre's ready for me. If–– <em>when</em> you see Sherlock, tell him I want a word. No, make that quite a few words." <br/><br/></p><p>_______________________<br/><br/><br/></p><p>North of the river, Sherlock is eyeing warily the Assistant Director of Human Resources of the Great Ormond Street Trust who has risen from the round table in the meeting room and is extending a hand, presumably for him to shake.</p><p>That ritual has always made him feel a bit uncomfortable, so he says, "In an environment where MRSA, C diff and norovirus could compromise patient health, I follow a clinical protocol to avoid handshakes."</p><p>Sheila Drew quirks a knowing smile. "It's hard to stop the habit of a lifetime, but I understand. Anyway, make yourself comfortable. May I introduce my colleague here, Alex Patel? He's the Medical Staffing Manager responsible for recruiting for the new Steadman Unit."</p><p>Next, her eyes settle on Edgar, standing a few paces behind and to the side of Sherlock.</p><p>He realises that he is expected to reciprocate with introductions. "This is Edgar Kingsley, who is shadowing me today. I am considering him for a position as a personal assistant to help co-ordinate my activities between the two Trusts. He needs to grasp the complexity of what is on offer here."</p><p>Is the look on the Staffing Manager's face showing surprise at this explanation? Sherlock isn't very good at interpreting such things. He takes a seat as both Edgar and Ms. Drew take theirs.</p><p>The Assistant Director opens a file and then looks up. "Complex… that's a good description, Mister Holmes. We've not had a Consultant split their work this way before, and two Trusts will need to work closely together to make sure that your contractual arrangements disadvantage neither you nor us or King's College."</p><p>Sherlock notices that Edgar has taken out his notebook.</p><p>The young man flashes a smile across the table at the two HR people, and asks politely, "Would you mind if I took a few notes? If the proceedings are confidential, I can refrain, but it might be helpful."</p><p>Alex Patel shakes his head. "No problem from the Trust's point of view. This is still an exploratory meeting, called at Mister Holmes' request, and confidential financial or patient information won't be discussed."</p><p>"Could you specify what you meant by disadvantage?" Sherlock asks Ms Drew.</p><p>"Most clinicians seeking a part-time contract will have their benefits reduced on a pro-rata basis. However, it isn't as simple as two part-time contracts equalling one whole time contract, especially when it comes to remuneration and pension contributions."</p><p>Sherlock waves a hand in dismissal. "Not relevant. I am assuming that the position is paid at the usual consultant rate on a 40% pro-rata basis, and the same will apply to the clinical contract with Kings. The pension, in particular, is not a concern. Even if it were to disappear entirely, that wouldn't matter."</p><p>Drew and Patel exchange a glance. "Well, that's… um, <em>refreshing</em> to hear. Most of our contract discussions can get rather challenging. The NHS has little room for manoeuvre, as I am sure you know."</p><p>"The NHS is an under-funded, creaky dinosaur slowly devouring itself through bureaucracy and too much influence from the weathervane opinions of politicians, but I still wouldn't work anywhere else in the UK. One of the two things I need to learn today is what constraints you are going to place on recruitment of the rest of the research staff. Seamus Murphy said I would be able to pick my own team. This is an important incentive to me, so I need a guarantee of it before I can accept the offer."</p><p>This time, it is Patel who speaks up. "We are all bound by NHS hiring procedures. Job descriptions and specifications will have to be drawn up in line with our standards. Equality and diversity issues will need to be addressed before and during the recruitment process. Of course, you will be consulted on these, and be a part of the selection panel."</p><p>Sherlock stifles a sigh. Patel is conforming to his worst stereotypes of HR people. "What I need to have is a person from your department I can work with closely to advise me on the costs, terms and conditions and all those… things… at an early stage, while I am working on the project proposal. And I need to have a say in who that is, rather than just being assigned some random person."</p><p>Ms Drew has tilted her chin to the left, a sign he takes to be questioning. This is confirmed when she asks, "Why? Most of the project managers are happy to work with whomever they are assigned to."</p><p>Here it is. The moment he has dreaded. If he wants this project to work, then he is going to have to be honest about his conditions, even if they don't fall into the usual category that these people are used to dealing with.</p><p>"I don't know how much or what precisely Lady Wolfson have told you about me, or what rumours you have heard. In the absence of that knowledge, I need to explain that I am neuroatypical, and have to deal professionally with significant communication deficits. Those issues make some people uncomfortable around me, and they can easily lead to misunderstandings and conflicts. Given that I have a short amount of time to put together the project proposal, including a budget and a complex timetable, I need to have someone with Human Resources knowledge who I can trust will be not only good at their job but also be <em>capable of dealing with me</em>." <br/><br/>The two HR people exchange glances again. Sherlock is uncomfortable with this because it always feels like they are communicating something to each other that he cannot understand, and it worries him. This isn't an unreasonable request, is it? How is he supposed to be efficient if they won't respect that he has different requirements from other people?</p><p>Eventually, Ms Drew nods. "I think I can accommodate that. We will have to look at workloads and find a number of possibilities for you to meet. It shouldn't be a deal-breaker. We can shift people around who are already on our payroll — much less red tape than with hiring policies."</p><p>"Next, I want to go back to the other thing I need from you — that issue of the contract? There is something that I would like to make clear: I have no desire to leave King's. I would therefore like a fixed-term contract at GOSH with an option for extension. I will be requesting a partial leave of absence from King's for that time period, rather than a complete renegotiation of my contract. There should be two break clauses: one after the project proposal has been completed, the other at a later date to be agreed once the proposal has been accepted by the Trust and the sponsors, probably after the first major deliverable."</p><p>Patel's eyebrows have been rising throughout this description. When Sherlock finishes, he says wryly, "Is that a case of having your cake and eating it too?"</p><p>Sherlock gives him a look of total incomprehension. "I don't understand that in this context." He is familiar with the expression but always has a hard time grasping figurative speech.</p><p>Patel purses his lips. "It sounds like you are less than committed to this than we were led to believe. We can bend the rules a bit, but we can't break them."</p><p>"I really don't understand what rules would be broken here. Term contracts are used all the time in the NHS, and with Steadman and Dahl involved, you must be obligated to tweak things to their specifications as well."</p><p>"Yes, there are term contracts for full-time secondments and the like, but this is different. Building an escape hatch into a prestigious research project where most candidates would give their right arm to take a full-time contract is just…" The HR executive leans back in his chair, twirling a pen in his fingers.</p><p>"Mister Patel. I did not approach the Trust; you approached me. What is being proposed in terms of research is a very admirable project, but taking it on may be risky for my clinical career and my work-life balance. If it is not possible to manage the two, then I need some way to exit the stage. I don't think that is being as greedy as your analogy implies, just sensible."</p><p>Ms Drew intervenes before Patel can respond. "Those clauses would need to be capable of being triggered by either party, Mister Holmes — you or the Trust."</p><p>"I expected so, yes."</p><p>Ms Drew continues: "And it would depend on King's agreeing to it as well. It is a <em>most unusual</em> arrangement if I might say."</p><p>"The offer you made me was also most unusual, was it not? And the reason why you approached me first is that I am unusually suited to the task. I have limited experience in these personnel matters, Ms Drew; I am only explaining what I need to make this work. If it's not possible, then you need to tell me and to explain it to both Lady Wolfson and Seamus Murphy. In that case, we can end these negotiations right now and stop wasting your time or mine any further."</p><p>Ms Drew closes the file in front of her. "I'm sure we will be able to get to some arrangement that can accommodate everyone's interests. Mister Holmes. I suggest you give us a day or two to work something up. And I do think you need to talk to your immediate superiors at King's urgently. It may be that they are unwilling to agree to a leave of absence rather than a re-negotiated contract, and that would cause major complications. There is goodwill in your Trust for this project, but the task to hammer out the practicalities there invariably falls on you. So, stay in touch. We will call you no later than the end of the week regarding the formal paperwork."</p><p><br/>_______________________</p><p> </p><p>"How do you think that went?" Sherlock asks Edgar as they walk out of the main entrance to Great Ormond Street Hospital. "I have no way of judging," he admits.</p><p>A reply comes without hesitation, "They didn't seem to feel there was a need for driving a harder bargain — I would estimate that they are likely to accept your terms. After all, they said they'd get back to you <em>with the paperwork</em> instead of saying they would get back to you, period. It appears natural that they'd want an indefinite contract; that gives you less power to pull out. But, 56 % of NHS's higher admin staff recruited through invitation instead of an open process have fixed-term contracts," Edgar reveals. "Now, there's a highly regarded Italian restaurant a mere block from here, and the weather is favourable. Shall we?"</p><p>Sherlock stops for a moment. He's not very hungry since there's too much going through his head. "Is it necessary?"</p><p>He <em>could</em> eat but isn't inclined to do so. This is his usual lunch hour at King's, and he's grown accustomed to using it to make sure his blood sugar doesn't tank in the OR. But since he's not operating today, he hadn't planned on anything. Should he have considered whether Edgar needs food? If so, having a personal assistant may become rather tiresome. He shouldn't be responsible for attending to the man's needs — it should be the very opposite. As a doctor in a field with irregular breaks, John is accustomed to soldiering on without sustenance when the situation so demands. John always sorts himself out and on the side of that makes sure that Sherlock doesn't keel over, either.</p><p>"If you're going to try to see your boss at King's this afternoon, surely now is the time to refuel," Edgar points out. "Wouldn't want to be anything less than on top form for what must be the harder discussion."</p><p>It makes sense. Sherlock nods. "Lead the way."</p><p>As they walk, he starts to wonder about Edgar's grasp of the statistical data about fixed-term contracts. He didn't know that fact, so he asks, "How do you know all that about NHS contracts?"</p><p>"I happen to have a friend at its central records office. I gave him a ring last night, and he pointed me to a recent Parliament inquiry on budget deficits which detailed contract types. He said that while not the dumping ground for disgraced politicians as some other public institutions are, the NHS has a long history of hand-picking people for certain non-clinical positions, and sometimes those choices may well have had political reasons. Suddenly, they are making a grand song and dance about doing so for a position where picking the right individual instead of ticking boxes makes much more sense. Why?" Edgar asks pointedly.</p><p>"Because in a research unit involving many doctors, the staff would be keener than average to challenge a bad, political recruitment choice? Because Steadman and Dahl's involvement means external pressure to get things done?"</p><p>Edgar looks thoughtful. "It's possible. Any profession with a highly developed sense of professional pride such as surgeons would not hesitate to fight, I presume. Perhaps someone involved in this process has experience of a bad recruitment choice; I cannot be certain. These negotiations could also be a test regarding how firmly you would stand by your opinions if you were hired."</p><p>"I thought that it was fair on all parties to make sure they understood who and what they were recruiting."</p><p>"Your disclosure was a bold move," Edgar admires. "I understand the necessity. The cost of work should not be a compromise in the best way one does the work. I have another theory regarding that meeting, by the way."</p><p>"Oh?"</p><p>"It could just be that they think that it's bad form to appear too eager. That HR chief, in particular, may have come from the business world where one never should appear too keen in a negotiation. Despite their outwardly hesitant words about being able to promise you what you wanted, whenever the potential of you declining was mentioned there was a scramble to assure you your needs would be met. I would estimate your bargaining position as very strong."</p><p>They arrive at the restaurant door. Sherlock finds himself only mildly surprised when a few words from Edgar to the maître’d results in them being escorted right past the queue at the 'wait here to be seated' sign and into a lovely corner table by the window.</p><p>"I–" Edgar starts, having likely noticed Sherlock's slight surprise at their treatment.</p><p>"––know someone," Sherlock concludes with a smirk. "Connections are everything, at least according to my brother."</p><p>"Mycroft Holmes, the CEO of Meyer-Hessen?"</p><p>"Yes." They'd never discussed Mycroft's work, just the fact that Sherlock's family consists of an adult brother and two parents who are both alive. <em>Someone's been doing his homework</em>.</p><p>"I assume you wish to put him on your Christmas gift list? What about birthday acknowledgement?"</p><p>Sherlock likes the term 'acknowledgement' since it wouldn't bloat his brother's sense of importance too much. "Both," he decides, being in a charitable mood after so many assurances from Edgar that he'd done well in the negotiations.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Parlay</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As they are greeted by their waiter who hands out menus, Sherlock continues their discussion.</p><p>"I am not looking forward to speaking to my superior at King's. According to John, he's already worried about the GOSH Steadman Unit recruiting from other Trusts; he is likely to be hostile to the proposition."</p><p>"I assume you will want to explore and present the benefits to King's to your superior," Edgar says simply. "If he is a man of sense, he will favour those benefits over personal annoyance."</p><p>"I hope so. It's just that people get emotional instead of taking a more business-like approach to work-related things."</p><p>As if on cue, Sherlock's phone pings with a text from Lestrade, requesting a meeting at his office in the afternoon. "Looks like I will need to have my arguments planned by three o'clock today.  He wants to see me, so I must use this as a chance to inform him of the positive aspects of the deal."</p><p>Edgar's fingers are already flying on the screen of his large-model iPhone. "Three o'clock noted. And I have added your brother on the lists."</p><p>"What's this?" Sherlock asks, frowning at Edgar's phone now that he's returned to the home screen. There's a new app there called <em>Slack</em> which he's never heard of. He'd given Edgar his phone so that the PA could make some tweaks he'd described as necessary.</p><p>"Ah, yes. I intended to explain all about that today, our schedules permitting. I hate the name of the app; possibly it is meant as humour, but the program itself is most functional. Think of it as a messaging app which allows a highly sophisticated hierarchy of categories. Instead of getting our messages lost in emails or SMS or iMessage chains, here, they will remain neatly in order. May I?"</p><p>Edgar extends his hand over the breadstick basket, and Sherlock gives him the phone.</p><p>"Categories can be permanent or temporary, such as for an upcoming event. I have taken the liberty of using my standard set to get us started, but feel free to add more. I know I will."</p><p>He opens the app, holding the phone so that they can both see the screen.</p><p>Sherlock reads through the list of hashtag-marked folders: #transport, #alterations from routine, #food at home, #food on the go, #travel and holidays, #relationship, #family, #work, #laundry and cleaning, #wellbeing, #clothing, #personal grooming.</p><p>"You leave a note in any category, and I will address that request. Picking up dry cleaning? A note in #clothing will do the trick. A restaurant reservation for a romantic night out? Just pick the pertinent category and leave me a few words. Perhaps we might add categories such as #on call and #GOSH negotiations?" Edgar suggests. "Just press the plus. I've had a friend code a modification for me that, among other things, hops over some of the steps with inviting people to a new group; it customises things so that your Slack only communicates with mine and John's. Turns out that he was already familiar with it; the administration at King's uses it. Slack makes managing various things simpler and adds a firewall of privacy."</p><p>Edgar continues his explanation. "Adrienne, a friend who has done the customisation for mine and programs my Excel spreadsheets, is quite clever; she works for Digital Shadows as a programmer. MI5's been trying to court her for <em>years, </em>but she's too much of an anarchist to say yes. One thing she's done is to connect this to various online travel services such as Uber Black. And, whenever you order a transport, I will be alerted through my Slack. I also have connections to a limo service which can be useful at times when Uber and London's cab services are overwhelmed. All you need to do––" Edgar points out and opens the #transport page, "––is to use this permanently fixed link here and I will sort out the rest once I see your communique."</p><p>Sherlock digests the concept as he scans the menu for what he wants. Edgar mirrors his action, and he is grateful that the young man has not looked at him waiting for some complimentary response or praise.  His PA has to be part of the <em>solution,</em> rather than pose yet more stress and problems as to how he should be interacting with others. So far, it seems that Edgar is skilled at finding satisfaction in when he knows he's done well and requires no additional praise.</p><p>When the waiter returns, Sherlock orders a simple <em>bucatini all'Amatriciana</em>.</p><p>Edgar opts for a <em>linguine vongole</em>, commenting, "The <em>bucatini</em> is a great choice here. They make it the old-fashioned way, using <em>guanciale</em>, Italian salt-cured pork jowl. It's delicious."</p><p>They both opt for water, with Edgar nodding, "Staying sharp. I don't suppose that surgeons drink at lunchtime; at least I hope they don't."</p><p>Sherlock gives him a slightly puzzled look. Is this an attempt at small talk? Is he going to be expected to do this regularly? The horribly named Slack app may be a useful go-between. He's always been better at texting than at a phone conversation or face-to-face social interaction. "I prefer to have lunch with John or on my own. I find casual interactions with others tiring," he explains.</p><p>"Of course." Edgar doesn't look the least bit of disappointed. "Would you have preferred the latter today?"</p><p>"No, this is…" Sherlock shifts his phone on the table, "…useful."</p><p>Edgar nods. "We need to establish rules and methods of interaction. When I am not needed, I will be unnoticeable. Never hesitate to say so if you require time alone. I assure you, it's absolutely fine. Our arrangement is for your benefit, not mine."</p><p>"Apart from your pay."</p><p>"Well, yes. But that's not the principal motivation. This is a fascinating glimpse into your profession and a chance to test myself with some novel challenges."</p><p>Sherlock mulls on the last part of that statement. Is that not precisely what he is looking for as well — a chance to challenge himself intellectually? "You don't have to try so hard to convince me you want this position. What you need to do is prove your usefulness, and so far, I have no complaints."</p><p>"Thank you, "Edgar beams at him, accepting that as some form of compliment.</p><p>Sherlock thinks about how he can make the best use of Edgar while they wait for their meals to arrive. John is prone to being too sceptical of his abilities or helping him by mollycoddling him; perhaps Edgar might provide a more objective sounding board, especially when John isn't available.</p><p>"I need to plan how to talk to Greg Lestrade," he says. Engaging Edgar's help can hardly make him fail worse in that upcoming discussion than he would on his own.</p><p>"Tell me about him and what sort of relationship you have."</p><p><em>Relationship.</em> There it is in a nutshell. How can Sherlock possibly explain how he interacts with the Head of Neurosurgery? "Um… in what way? Obviously, one could say that he is the equivalent of my line manager."</p><p>"Do you get on?"</p><p>"Within reason. I don't tend to analyse these things."</p><p>"Okay. What sort of person is he?"</p><p>Sherlock is tempted to shrug, giving physical expression to his ambiguity about the question.  At least Edgar doesn't seem to be judging him for his lack of reaction to the question.</p><p>"Would you consider him a mentor?"</p><p>"Yes. When I came to work at King's, I was still a trainee, and he is in charge of neurosurgical training at King's. He has taught me many surgical techniques."</p><p>"What about a friend? Have you ever spent time with him outside of the office?"</p><p>"Yes, on a few occasions. He came to talk to John when…" He trails out. He doesn't want to detail what had gone on at home after they had returned from Afghanistan. "…when there was an issue he could relate to."</p><p>"Would you say he is fair in his dealings with you? Can you be honest with him without fearing consequences?"</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"Is he… tolerant? Understanding?"</p><p>"Of what?"</p><p>"What do you like about him?"</p><p>"Who says I like him?"</p><p>"Your tone and how meticulously you are approaching this. I get the sense that you don't want to disappoint him personally and not just professionally. Do you feel like you owe him? Is that one of the motivations for your staying at King's?"</p><p>Their food arrives. Sherlock is grateful for the time it gives him to think through the question and how he might answer it.</p><p>"<em>Buon appetito,"</em> Edgar says and starts twirling his linguine around his fork.</p><p>Sherlock picks up his fork, and answers, "What I like about him is that he's a good surgeon. He's a bit old-fashioned and not very… adventurous. But, competent, very competent."</p><p>"And as a boss? I mean, he must have a lot of responsibilities to deal with; is he a micro-manager or does he let you get on with things?"</p><p>Sherlock keeps chewing. How is this going to help his negotiations? Once he's swallowed, he answers, "More the latter than the former. He only seems to get involved when someone brings him a problem. He doesn't seem to mind his surgeons having their own approaches to things as long as their reasoning is ethical, medically sound and cost-effective." He's not about to admit to Edgar that more often than not, his interactions with Lestrade have focused on other people bringing to his boss a problem about <em>him</em>. "He puts out fires; not really strategic in his development of the unit. King's hasn't really found its research niche under his leadership. He's very much a clinician, not an academic."</p><p>"Does he see this as a problem? How important does he think your research has been to the unit?"</p><p>Sherlock doesn't know how to answer. How is he expected to know what goes on in his boss's head?  He shrugs, takes a bite and uses the time to think.</p><p>Edgar has picked clean several of the clamshells and stops to take a sip of water. "So, he's likely then to see this proposed move of yours as a problem rather than as an opportunity, since it robs him of two days' worth of an individual piece of the clinical workforce and a surgeon with a very prominent research career. That suggests you could take a more upbeat approach. Rather than say he's lucky to have you for three days a week, that you're not completely leaving, perhaps the thing to emphasise is how committed you are long-term, so much so that you are only looking for a part-time leave of absence.  If you can help him see the positives, maybe he won't see this as a problem. Emphasise your clinical strengths, remind him of why King's needs you to complete its set of neurosurgeons."</p><p>What Lestrade worries about the most is patient care, so it's not a bad strategy. Sherlock is about to admit as much when his phone vibrates on the table. He drops his fork and picks it up, glancing at the screen. "It's John," he tells Edgar. </p><p>He accepts the call, lifting the phone to his ear. "Hi."</p><p>"It's me; I'm just out of theatre. Are you done at GOSH? Have you got a minute?"</p><p>"I'm eating lunch with Edgar. Lestrade has asked to see me at three; do you know what it's about? Because I'd really like to talk to him about the offer."</p><p>"I talked to him this morning. I already told him about the offer and that you are thinking about it."</p><p>Sherlock's eyes widen. "I didn't ask you to do that."</p><p>"I know, but it made sense. I didn't want him to think I'd been lying when he first raised it. Now he's forewarned and will have time to have thought it through rather than just react. Think of it as me smoothing the way."</p><p>"I don't need you to do that. This offer isn't what you so often call one of my 'messes' that you think it's your responsibility to fix. It's a rational decision-making process, and one I am taking care of."</p><p>"Well, excuse me, but I have to work with him even after you've jumped ship. I was only trying to help us both."</p><p>"Why won't anyone make a note of the fact that I am <em>not</em> jumping ship!" Sherlock couldn't help raising his voice a little. <em>Why won't people listen or focus on the actually important parts of this issue?</em></p><p>"He's not the only one whose opinions you'll have to face. I doubt Anderson will be happy about you slipping off, leaving him having to do all the simple cases — I agree that King's can't probably afford to put you on anything but stuff like your posterior fossa stuff if you're only here for three days a week."</p><p>"That's for Lestrade to decide. You told me I need to manage people if I take this on. That's what I'm doing today — managing expectations — and I need to do this on my own. Lestrade won't believe that I haven't just gone along with some haphazard poaching attempt if I don't argue my case well and do it myself."</p><p>"You do understand where I'm coming from, don't you?" John asks him. "I'm going to have to answer those questions, too, about why you only work part-time now."</p><p>"It's part-time only in theory. If anything, my workload is likely to increase at least 56% above that of the average––"</p><p>"Sherlock…"</p><p>"Don't 'Sherlock' me." He glances at Edgar, who is finishing up his pasta. The younger man doesn't look the least bit of amused or perturbed. "I have company."</p><p>"Who?"</p><p>"Edgar; how can you not remember that he is shadowing me today?"</p><p>"If you're supposed to do this alone, why are you already attached at the hip to him, then? Are you planning to take this guy with you to Lestrade? My advice is, don't. It'll just be… I don't know… a bit weird."</p><p>"A bit like bringing you along? Is that what this is about?"</p><p>"Yeah. And no. If you want to stand on your own two feet, have at it."</p><p>"I think I need Edgar for this."</p><p>"Why would you need him if he never even existed before last week?"</p><p>"Because unlike yours, his advice of today has been actually objective and helpful."</p><p>There is a sigh on the other end of the phone. "As always, Sherlock, I was just trying to help. We'll talk about this tonight. I've got to go back to work."<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>________________________</p><p> </p><p>At three in the afternoon precisely, Sherlock and Edgar are ushered into Lestrade's office by the man's secretary. </p><p>The conversation doesn't start off well. As far as Sherlock can tell, his boss is visibly angry at him, and he's glad to have Edgar's company even if it's backup he shouldn't need. Somehow, having another person in the room makes him feel that Lestrade might be a bit more polite than if they were just one-to-one. However, as soon as he recognises this relief, he chastises himself. This is what he has to work on, now: not needing others to protect him or to pave the way for him.</p><p>There is also that fact that Lestrade doesn't mince his words in John's presence, and at times it's been the two of them against Sherlock. It's about time Sherlock had some backup of his own.</p><p>"So," Lestrade says after instructing him to have a seat. "Who's this?" he nods towards Edgar, who's standing just inside the doorway.</p><p>"My assistant."</p><p>"Assistant at GOSH?"</p><p>Even Sherlock can detect the annoyance that statement carries. "No, <em>my</em> assistant, a <em>personal</em> assistant. Edgar Kingsley, meet Mister Greg Lestrade."</p><p>Edgar seems to sense something that keeps him from stepping forward and offering his hand. Instead, he looks demure as he nods politely at Lestrade.</p><p>"Some sort of spare John, then?" Lestrade says, his tone challenging. "Can this assistant give us a minute alone?"</p><p>"I want him to be present for this. There may be a need for note-taking, and he needs to be aware of the outcome of this meeting."</p><p>"That outcome depends on you," Lestrade says sharply, but doesn't argue further about Edgar.</p><p>The younger man continues to linger by the now-closed door and somehow manages not to look awkward. Sherlock appreciates such a skill.</p><p>Lestrade looks exhausted and stern. This is confirmed when the older surgeon states, "Okay, I am not going to be on my best behaviour, because I'm knackered — a long procedure got complicated. We can hardly put this off, and I'm not going to pretend that I am happy about what's going on. GOSH has finally seduced you, then."</p><p>"I wouldn't use that word to describe making a rational choice based on facts."</p><p>"A rational career choice for you, maybe. You know we can't afford to lose staff, not even for two days a week."</p><p>"Ah yes, someone's talent needs to be wasted so that all those pointless bread-and-butter cases can be sorted here instead of smaller hospitals to guarantee a basic revenue we should be awarded by the NHS for our more demanding cases."</p><p>"Apart from voting, I can't see how I could fix that."</p><p>"You can't, and your need to above all protect the interests of your staff regarding their workload is understandable and even admirable. However, the needs of the many must outweigh the needs of the few."</p><p>"What's that mean?"</p><p>"We need better shunts to help patients better. By using too much of my time operating on individual patients who could be seen by others instead of furthering my research, I am helping fewer people than would be helped with an improved shunt design. Obvious."</p><p>Lestrade doesn't seem to want to argue about that, but even Sherlock can tell he's not convinced. "How will you ensure that you're not just taking on too much which will start eating into your work here? Will two days eventually become three or more?"</p><p>"Steadman has given me control over the contents of the proposal so that I can fit its contents to the time I have available.  I will not put in more days than what is agreed upon. If the project is delayed from its planned schedule, then so be it. So far, under prior leadership, it has not advanced at all. They have little to lose by adapting to reality and my availability." Sherlock glances towards Edgar. "I am also implementing organisational changes in my everyday life which will ensure more time is freed up for work instead of the bureaucracy surrounding it or seeing to the minutiae of my private life."</p><p>"You know I can't offer you a pay raise and I know that even if I could, it wouldn't matter." Greg huffs. "There was always the risk that you might leave King's; I admit I put my hopes in John's presence keeping you here."</p><p>"I have no desire to leave King's and have told GOSH as much. It's why I have demanded a fixed-term contract at GOSH and will be requesting a partial leave of absence from King's for that time period instead of asking that my contract be renegotiated at this point for a part-time one. That makes my commitment to King's as clear as I can make it."</p><p>"You've anticipated all of my arguments, haven't you? Of course, you have." Lestrade drums his fingertips on his desk.</p><p>"I wanted to prepare for this conversation well," Sherlock says primly. "It seemed pertinent to anticipate potential issues that might be raised."</p><p>"What does John think?"</p><p>"Since he took it upon himself to talk to you without my knowledge, I thought he would have vented his concerns to you."</p><p>"He was too busy defending you."</p><p>"John worries, just as you do, that the weekly time allocated for this project is unrealistic. He worries that I will get into trouble because I could easily alienate the other staff at GOSH, end up in serious interpersonal conflicts and that I will wind up overworked and neglectful of my duties at King's."</p><p>"And you would solve those problems how?"</p><p>"I don't know, <em>exactly</em>, because I can't predict that in advance, and I suspect a puzzle of many solutions will be needed," Sherlock freely admits. "It was John who brought it to my attention that leadership is not always about planning — that oftentimes, it's about reacting, and that there are not always right or wrong answers. I shall have to try my best and learn from my mistakes. That is all I have done here. If I fail, then at least I have tried instead of forever wondering if I could have succeeded."</p><p>"I'm going to have to let you off the hook with spinal stuff, aren't I?"</p><p>Lestrade now looks slightly conspiratorial and amused.</p><p>Sherlock can't quite understand why. "I'll leave it to you to decide how my days at King's are best used."</p><p>"Half a day's clinic, two and a half days of OR time," Lestrade announces. Sherlock can tell it's not a proposal but an order.</p><p>"Can I keep Marie?"</p><p>"She'd probably go on strike if I re-allocated her. God knows how you've bribed that woman, but she really likes you."</p><p>Sherlock ignores the barb.</p><p>"I assume you won't take call at GOSH?" Lestrade then asks.</p><p>"No. It's <em>research</em>. Not clinical."</p><p>"Can I rely on you to carry your usual share of the call rota here?"</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>Lestrade grabs a piece of paper from a pile on his desk and passes it to Sherlock. It's an LTFT form, meaning an application for less-than-full-time employment.</p><p>"Does this mean you'll say yes?" Sherlock clarifies.</p><p>"That shunt you're going to invent better be the best thing that's ever happened to neurosurgery."</p><p>Sherlock grimaces sceptically and prepares to rattle off the list of at least five more important past developments in their field.</p><p>Lestrade lifts up a finger. "You — just shut up. But good luck, anyway. Being a boss isn't half as great as some people think," the older neurosurgeon warns him.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>If you want to see the graphics connected to each chapter, head on down to <a href="https://jbaillier.tumblr.com/tagged/connecting_sutures">J's Tumblr tag for this story</a>.</p><p> </p><p>  </p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Relationship management</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Early evening the next day, John's mouth tightens into a line where he's seated in his usual armchair. He'd lit a fire after arriving home since it's a wet, chilly and miserable weather outside. It's just that he's the only one enjoying it: Edgar and Sherlock are in the kitchen, paying little mind to John's presence or the cosy, flickering flames.</p><p>The prospective PA had stuck around at Sherlock's invitation after they had returned from a meeting at Steadman's London officers and are discussing what sounds like staffing issues. While Sherlock is monologuing about architectural things related to the new unit with the occasional segue into medical details of the shunt design project, Edgar is listening to him with rapt attention and jotting down notes.</p><p><em>Writing down every word the teacher says?</em> John remembers swots like that from school. Then again, Sherlock wouldn't have been one of them. No, he'd have learned the material quickly, not paid attention to how some teacher whose IQ was likely lower than his was attempting to explain the basics. John hadn't behaved like Edgar at school either: he always sat at the back of the class, and he likes to think he paid equal attention to his friends, the girls, the occasional handsome bloke and the material being taught by the teacher. <em>None of my friends were upper-class twits</em>. He wonders idly and briefly if Sherlock's circle had been precisely those kinds of boys but then recalls what little his husband has been willing to disclose of his childhood, and what copious details and lamentations he's heard from Violet. <em>He was such a lonely little boy until his late teens; no wonder he latched on to that awful Victor then</em>.</p><p>Around Edgar, Sherlock acts a bit as he does at work: more reserved, warier, but clearly not as paralysed by the fear of doing the wrong thing that he'd resort to his knee-jerk, hyena-with-PMS act to repel idiots before they can reject his company. It's interesting how he's not trying as hard as he does when they meet with John's friends to be sociable when Edgar is present. <em>Maybe it's the whole employee-employer thing?</em> John wonders. <em>The bloke's paid to put up with him, so he doesn't have to make a particular effort to make friends as long as he doesn't treat him badly.</em></p><p>John tries to read the newspaper he hadn't quite managed to get through in their morning rush to work but can't focus because there is a foreign presence in the flat. He feels like he should be playing host, perhaps making tea, but Edgar is an employee and not a friend, and he's Sherlock's responsibility. Eventually, Sherlock digs out his laptop and begins typing something up. It's gone close to six in the evening, but he still doesn't dismiss Edgar, who continues to sit opposite him primly and attentively. <em>Maybe Sherlock is being his typical oblivious self and not realising he needs to give explicit permission for Edgar to go home for the day?</em></p><p>When Edgar catches John watching him, the former flashes a restrained smile. John finds himself annoyed that it's not smarmy enough to justify his annoyance at the man's presence in their flat. If anything, Edgar's current demeanour is disarming, and it makes John want to roll his eyes.</p><p>He decides he can't take this anymore. He also doesn't want tea which would be his go-to thing to break the tension.</p><p>He rises to his feet and goes to collect his coat.</p><p>"Right," he starts after clearing his throat loudly. He fixes his gaze on the younger man currently watching his husband as though Sherlock might drop a gold coin at any moment for his loyal servant. "Edgar; a pint. Come on."</p><p>Sherlock's concentration breaks and he twists in his chair. "John? What are you doing?"</p><p>"Getting to know your PA candidate." <em>Emphasis on the word 'candidate'</em>. "Edgar, get your coat."</p><p>"We are in the middle of something."</p><p>"<em>You</em> are in the middle of something, and you should have let the poor bloke go home when you stopped talking to him. Edgar, for future reference: you don't have to wait for him to finish doing something he's preoccupied with on that damned computer to go home if you're done for the day. Unless I drag him to bed or shove a plate of food in front of him, he might not re-emerge from where he goes in his head for something like ten hours."</p><p>Sherlock looks indignant at this description but then raises a lofty brow before re-focusing on his laptop screen.</p><p>"Um… noted?" Edgar suggests, taking turns to side-eye both Sherlock and John, unsure who to address. He rises to his feet slowly, as though expecting permission. "Sherlock? Um… Mister Holmes?"</p><p>Sherlock flaps his hand in the air without even looking up. "Go." It's typical of him to ignore conversations which he's not interested in or which seek to alter his behaviour.</p><p>"Shall I collect you in the morning?" Edgar asks.</p><p>Sherlock's response comes with a delay and a distracted tone. "No, I'm heading to King's with John. I'll be operating for most of the day."</p><p>Edgar gives John an apologetic glance and accepts the coat held out for him. "We were supposed to go through the next two week's calendar tonight. Once this Great Ormond Street engagement begins, it may be pertinent to start writing down normal clinical workdays as well as research schedules. I need to be aware of where Sherlock needs to be at any given moment."</p><p><em>No, you don't</em>, John thinks as he leads the way down the stairs and out to the street where it's still drizzling. Edgar digs out a collapsible umbrella from his satchel while John doesn't have anything to shield himself, making him curse inwardly. Thankfully, The Volunteer is just around the corner. It's a bit too upmarket to truly be described as a quintessential English pub, but John hopes this is more Edgar's scene than a musty, old, cosy establishment such as The Royal Oak which is John's favourite close by. Sherlock prefers the much more luxuriously flamboyant The Prince Regent on Marylebone High Street on the rare occasions when he can be coaxed to join John for pub grub rather than some fancier restaurant.</p><p>John gets a pint of stout with a plate of camembert, sourdough bread and celery. Edgar orders the fishcakes and some Chardonnay. The pub has a surprisingly good selection of wines — even Mycroft had commented favourably on it when he had visited during their father's stay at Baker Street for his radiation treatments. George Holmes is not a fan of very modern cuisine; give the man a walk in the countryside with the family dog and a hot pub meal, and he'll be happy as a clam. Out of the pair, Violet is much more the London socialite.</p><p>"So," John starts once they've seated at a small corner table. "How's it going with Sherlock?"</p><p>"Perhaps he'd be the best to evaluate my performance."</p><p>John sips his beer and dabs off the foam from his lips with a paper napkin. "I'm sure your performance is fine. But how are the two of you… getting along?"</p><p>Edgar unbuttons his navy corduroy jacket and rearranges symmetrically on the table in front of him the cutlery he fishes out of two wooden boxes. "It's early days, yet. But fine as far as I'm concerned, absolutely fine." After a pause, he asks hesitantly, "Has he said something to the contrary?"</p><p>"No, no, he hasn't," John hastens to reply. "As you said, it's only been a few days. I promise he would have kicked you to the kerb if he was put off by anything. He judges people quickly and quite brutally," he chuckles.</p><p>"First impressions can be hard to alter," Edgar comments politely.</p><p>There's something tight and pointed in his tone.</p><p>"I wonder if he ever read that CV of yours or if he forgot about it," John says. "That's one of his better qualities — he judges people by what they say and what they do and how competent they are, not based on educational credentials or pedigree. He likes saying that professor-level university people are often some of the intellectually laziest wastes of space in the medical establishment."</p><p>A waiter delivers a basket of breadsticks which John ignores because he's getting his sourdough soon, he hopes. "So, where'd you go to uni, assuming you did?"</p><p>"Roehampton. Bachelor in business administration." Edgar doesn't sound particularly proud of that.</p><p>Roehampton is not the fanciest university in London, but then again, John hadn't gone anywhere really fancy, either. His GCSE results were alright, but not good enough to have a snowball's chance in hell to get into an Oxbridge medical programme.</p><p>He nods. "Is that something a lot of PAs do, study business?"</p><p>Edgar worries his lip. "I suppose many in the higher end have such a degree or other. Helps you understand the working life of your employer."</p><p>"I bet it doesn't help all that much with Sherlock."</p><p>"What I do… there is relatively little theory available to help with it — with anticipating what someone needs and offering suggestions and assistance in a way that won't be too interruptive of their lives or too…" His brows knit together as he considers the right words, "I don't want to be an interloper. I must get along with everyone in an employer's closest circles." The look he gives John is wary and expectant. "There is always a learning curve, but experience makes that process quicker. Experience has also given me the insight I need to assess whether I am a good fit with someone."</p><p>"How would you know if you could be a good fit with a doctor? I'm not saying you need a medical degree for that, but it has to be different from that fashion guy you worked with before."</p><p>Edgar lets out a dry laugh. "I would expect a doctor to have better people skills than some of the fashion high-flyers I have worked with."</p><p>John sips his pint. <em>Oh, you might be surprised…</em></p><p>"I cannot name names or share details of former clients, of course, but I can mention that I had to withdraw from an employer because their teenage and adult stepchildren — there were a sizeable number of them residing with this person — and I could not get along. My presence proved too challenging for both parties, and I don't see it as my employer's responsibility to try to build such bridges; it's mine."</p><p>Edgar's eyes then light up. "Oh, but it's wonderful to get immersed in a new area such as neurosurgery and research! Sherlock is rather good at explaining medical things so that I can follow what's happening at least some of the time."</p><p>"I wish he'd bother to do that with our trainees and medical students, too. He won't give you the time of day if he thinks you're an idiot."</p><p>"I should take it as a compliment, then."</p><p>John is tempted to ask why someone obviously clever and from a prominent family wouldn't have been shoehorned into Cambridge or Oxford or any of London's most prominent institutions, but something tells him there's a story there Edgar might not want to share. Then again, if he's supposed to open his life to this man as an extension of Sherlock's, why wouldn't it be appropriate? <em>Quid pro quo</em>, as one of Mycroft's favourite sayings goes. John has never been involved in hiring a PA before, so he has no idea what to expect or how to conduct himself. <em>He can always say no to answering a question if it makes him uncomfortable.</em></p><p>"You never considered going into business yourself, being one of the people who hire assistants instead of being one?" John asks.</p><p>"I recognise that many people think the word 'assistant' implies someone in training or someone who has no talents to aim higher. I like to think it's a worthy vocation in its own right. I also don't want the responsibility of leadership, John. I am happy in the orbit of individuals capable of it, to use my talents of observation and personal organisation for their benefit. If I had to make the kinds of decisions they make — decisions which can disappoint people and lead to conflicts — I'd find that impossible. I am a people-pleaser, John, though my impulsiveness and the associated directness and my enthusiasm for my work often put people off, instead."</p><p>"You don't seem impulsive," John dismisses. Anyone with Edgar's calendar and note-taking systems and all that… how could they be impulsive?</p><p>"A person who is easily distracted, cannot tolerate boredom and can be forgetful because they are preoccupied with more interesting things must develop outstanding compensatory mechanisms for those challenges. People who don't have such problems never have to hone their coping strategies to an art."</p><p>It makes sense to John. Edgar seems to be talking about himself but indirectly. Why?</p><p>"I am impulsive, restless and easily bored; the key is that I have found workarounds to those things," Edgar admits carefully, "At some point, I noticed my acquired skills could benefit others, and that I enjoy that work which means it holds my interest, intensely so. That means I don't give a whit if my workday stretches suddenly or I must change my personal plans. I'm flexible to a fault."</p><p>"But what about… your personal life? That sounds like you have to be able to drop everything at any time, regardless of whether you're with friends or…?"</p><p>"If the hospital calls and tells you you're needed, I assume you'll go?"</p><p>John shrugs. "Yeah, sure. Sherlock will, too."</p><p>"He described it as being "married to John just as I am to my work". I am married to my profession, too. I accept its demands for the perks it offers."</p><p>"But…" <em>it still sounds like paid slavery at the mercy of the whims of some rich person</em>. "You're saying you enjoy your job so much that you're willing to go for a very high level of dedication?"</p><p>"Exactly. I am privileged in that my work <em>is</em> my primary interest and hobby."</p><p>John doesn't fancy the notion that Edgar's primary interest and hobby would be Sherlock from now on. That level of dedication sounds a lot like Sherlock's research, and John had never considered it entirely healthy. While Edgar doesn't quite off the vibe of some fannish groupie, there is a reverence towards Sherlock which, admittedly, makes John uncomfortable. <em>Maybe that will change once I get to know him.</em></p><p>John is willing to admit he is envious of the kind of drive Edgar and Sherlock share. While John might say he loves being an anaesthesiologist, he's never felt quite as obsessively fascinated by any of it as Sherlock is by neurosurgery. He wouldn't trade brains with his beloved because he knows what the downsides of Sherlock's ASD and genius are, but… it's been one of John's strengths in their relationship that he can provide emotional and communication support for Sherlock, and now there's someone else who's going to take over at least some of that…</p><p>"Some people have the complex. They obsess over one thing and can't let it go. Never mind sleeping or eating… You seem to have healthier daily habits than Sherlock does, at least. He told me you remind him to get lunch." John clears his throat. "Look, I know he can be quite difficult, and I––"</p><p>
  <em>I know how to help him. How to deal with him. How to make him happy.</em>
</p><p>Edgar, looking apologetic, raises a hand to interrupt him. "You don't have to apologise for him. I've worked with people who take advantage of their employees' willingness for self-sacrifice, with only some vague promise of a good reference as the carrot. I have moved past that stage in my career. My contract at the agency allows me to decline a placement for any reason, at any time. I wouldn't offer my services to Sherlock unless I was willing to give it my best, and if I didn't think we could form a mutually beneficial partnership."</p><p>"For how long?"</p><p>"As long as I am needed, or the arrangement serves both our interests."</p><p>John has a sudden mental image of a rickety, old Edgar drudging up the stairs to deliver tea to an equally wrinkled Sherlock nursing a bout of gout on their sitting room sofa.</p><p><em>Who am I trying to protect here — Edgar from Sherlock, or Sherlock and me from an extra person in our life?</em> John wonders. He realises he's making this so-called-friendly-pint into a second job interview while it's not his decision whether to employ Edgar or not. He had been pleasantly surprised at Sherlock's willingness to dismiss the man if John didn't like him, but it's not fair to give Edgar the boot just because of that, is it? <em>If he wants to take on the colossal challenge of working for Sherlock, it's his problem</em>.</p><p>Suddenly, John realises how terrible that sounds. Does he really think that he's the only one capable of supporting Sherlock professionally, and enjoying the man's company? Sherlock is clever, interesting, impressive and occasionally inadvertently rather funny. He's handsome, can be charming when he's not stressed, and he likes the person he's conversing with. <em>For God's sake; he's great, and that's why I married him!</em></p><p>
  <em>Maybe I just want to keep him all to myself. People have hurt him in the past so badly…</em>
</p><p>He takes a long look at Edgar who is looking out the window and sipping his wine, and reminds himself of what Sherlock had commented about his motives for trying on a PA for size: he had told John he did it to ensure his new job wouldn't compromise their home life. Their relationship. Their marriage.</p><p>
  <em>Even if Edgar went to bloody Roehampton and even if he's exhausting and even if I don't like him much at the moment, he's also clever and resourceful and good at his job — stellar, in fact, judging by the agency's approach to him… he's also young and good-looking and… and… he's not Sherlock's type. I am.</em>
</p><p>John lets out a breath and squares his shoulders when their food arrives. He's being irrational, and he knows it. The plain facts are that yes, Sherlock may well have a point that such a high position in a research organisation coupled with the demands of his clinical work easily warrant a professional assistant. It would warrant one even if Sherlock wasn't… Sherlock. And if he can find the rare exception of a person who doesn't drive him barmy but who can help him with things which he's not particularly good at such as dealing with people… Isn't this what John has kept telling him he wants: for Sherlock to stop hiding behind him when there are other people to be dealt with? Sherlock had commented favourably on Edgar's input regarding the GOSH meeting two days prior. That input had centred on reading the people attending the meeting and translating their reactions. It should be a relief that John won't have to do all that anymore and that he won't have to worry about Sherlock not having his help with communication and understanding others when he works at GOSH.</p><p>
  <em>It's just that… That's just the thing. I'm the rare person who doesn't drive him barmy by existing in the vicinity, and I'm the one who helps him with things!</em>
</p><p>"This is good," Edgar says, pointing at his fishcake with his fork, presumably to break the silence.</p><p><em>How much is Sherlock paying him? </em>John wonders.</p><p>"How did you two meet — if you don't mind me asking?"</p><p>John doesn't mind per se, but he won't share certain details. He wonders if Sherlock would, considering that he'd even told the agency about having autism. "He came to King's to finish his training. I helped him with a project, and we hit it off. He asked me to move in."</p><p>"And you've been married for how long?"</p><p>"Four years, now." Pride swells in John as he recalls their wedding day. It was a rush job, really, since they wanted to do it before leaving for Malosa, but it was still lovely. Even Violet Holmes had seemed to relax and enjoy the day; possibly because she was happy that Sherlock had found someone who would, in her world view, take over her duties of managing her younger son.</p><p>"Sherlock speaks often and very highly of you," Edgar offers courteously.</p><p><em>He bloody well should</em>, John thinks. Then again, Edgar's comment had sounded sincere rather than an attempt at flattery.</p><p>He realises that Edgar is a lot less chatty than usual. Sherlock's presence seems to encourage the man to relax in that regard. <em>That's a first — Sherlock putting people at ease.</em></p><p>Speaking of: John's phone vibrates in his jacket pocket, and he digs it out and activates the face recognition unlock function.</p><p>The message is from Sherlock.</p><p>19:12 From Sherlock Holmes ICE: <em>Once you're done exuding husbandly territoriality at my prospective PA, bring more printer paper from the newsagent on your way back</em>.<em> And send Edgar home. He doesn't enjoy a concept of 'a pint among blokes' any more than I do.</em><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>_______________</p><p> </p><p>Later that evening, John wants to hear about Lestrade's conversation with Sherlock, but the latter has kept putting off his attempts to adopt the topic for days now. "Thinking," has been the repeated excuse. Knowing that pushing Sherlock at this stage will be counter-productive, John had avoided asking the question at the hospital. There, it is hard to find time to breathe, let alone have a proper discussion, and Edgar had been buzzing around. He had even observed one of Sherlock's out-patient clinic sessions with the patients' permission.</p><p>Marie had no complaints about the man's conduct when John had asked about her impressions afterwards. According to her, the young man seemed a model of discretion and civility. Some eyebrows had been raised by consultants; predictably, Anderson had blustered about how the Trust could possibly afford to give Sherlock a PA when all the other consultants on the service had to share a single secretary. Sherlock had not risen to the bait and simply answered that Edgar is his <em>personal</em> assistant, paid for by him alone and not the Trust. No, Edgar is not the problem but the fact that no matter how well he behaves and how helpful he appears, the young man's an intrusion. One John had not really anticipated and still doesn't know how to deal with.</p><p>Now, with the two of them at home and with Edgar in an Uber on his way home from the pub, John's curiosity trumps circumspection.</p><p>"So, have you decided?" he asks.</p><p>"About what?"</p><p>Sherlock is hoovering up the ham and cheese croissant John had grabbed for him at Pret-A-Manger on his way home from the pub. He's reading some journal article on his tablet.</p><p>"About the GOSH job, of course," explains John. He can't tell if Sherlock is distracted enough by his riveting reading material to lag behind in conversation or if he's avoiding the subject.</p><p>That question makes Sherlock look up from his tablet and put it down. "You want to do this now?"</p><p>John nods. "At least we can start the discussion. Your lips have been stitched tight together about this for the past few days. I know you talked to Greg, so what's it going to be?"</p><p>Sherlock gives him an odd look. "Stitched lips? Connecting sutures? Or do you mean bog-standard subcutaneous stitches?"</p><p>John rolls his eyes; trust Sherlock to be so literal. "Neither. It's a phrase; it means you haven't been talking, so please, talk now."</p><p>Sherlock tilts his head at the request. "Actually, cranial sutures are an appropriate analogy. I have been considering the GOSH offer as a chance to bring three parts of my life into a closer-knit whole: surgery, research and home life. The joints are still very flexible and have not ossified. So, the quick answer is that I have not yet decided<em>.</em> Movement and elasticity are two key components that I want to ensure are there in the relationships before I say 'yes'. I've had the okay from King's, and GOSH has been willing to be flexible. What I haven't heard is what <em>you</em> think about it all."</p><p>That makes John sit up. Has Sherlock been waiting for <em>him</em> to say something? <em>Bloody hell</em>. John has tried his best to give him the peace and quiet to mull things over, and now he's being chastised for not saying what he thinks about it all.  He tries to stifle his annoyance. Why would Sherlock want to hear from him since their discussions on the topic have only ended in conflict? What does Sherlock <em>need</em> to hear?</p><p>John realises that he's been put in the spotlight, and he isn't actually sure what he wants. How will Sherlock react to that indecision on his part? Might he misinterpret it as a lack of supportive spirit or that he's stubbornly holding on to concerns he still considers valid while Sherlock doesn't?</p><p><em>Damned if I do; damned if I don't.</em> John sighs, then looks at Sherlock. <em>Maybe honesty is the best policy.</em></p><p>"I think a lot of things about this, and they don't all make sense. Half of them contradict the other half, and I end up confusing myself as to what I should or shouldn't say."</p><p>There is a very small, knowing smile. "You and me both," Sherlock replies. "You tell me yours; I'll tell you mine."</p><p>John takes a deep breath. "I love you. That means I want to support you in what you want to do in your career. It also means that I worry about you biting off more than you can chew and stressing out over trying to do too much. You set such high standards for yourself that you can stretch yourself too thin, trying to achieve things that most people wouldn't even attempt to do. And when you don't meet those standards, it upsets you. I love you too much to enjoy seeing you stressed, tired and upset."</p><p>As John comes to a bit of a pause, he realises that a pair of blue-green eyes are now looking at him rather fiercely instead of being as evasive as they have been for the past few days. </p><p>"So, that's a <em>no</em> from you, is it? You don't think I'm up to it." Disappointment etches lines in Sherlock's features.</p><p>"No, no, that's not what I said. Listen, please. I said there were lots of different things I am thinking about when it comes to you and this offer. I won't pretend that don't I worry about you. I love you too much to try to lie about this. But… and it is a big but… I also know you. You have more energy to do things that challenge you than to deal with the boredom that comes from repetition. Whenever you put your mind to something, you try, and you might fail, but you try again until you master it. You don't let people tell you that you shouldn't do something because of who you are."</p><p>"That's not accurate at all. I spent most of my life up to now avoiding things I was told I was no good at. <em>You</em> keep telling me not to do certain things because I'm rubbish at them. You make assumptions, just like my mother."</p><p>"You see something interesting and <em>wham</em>, you're suddenly into it one hundred and ten per cent, until you get bored with it or distracted by something else," John tries to explain.</p><p>Now Sherlock gives him an offended look. "You think I am easily distracted, haphazard in my interests, unwilling to see something through?"</p><p>"<em>Stop it</em>. Not what I said. You are putting a negative slant on everything. You want to do this shunt, but you don't want to be anyone's boss. Trust me; you don't."</p><p>"What if it's the way to do things in an optimal manner for <em>my </em>productivity? What if adopting a leading position is the only way to achieve the goal?"</p><p>"Just let me finish," John pleads.</p><p>Sherlock settles back in his chair and waits, his arms crossed, unconsciously defensive.</p><p>"Your determination is both your weakness and your strength," John says. "When you get stubborn about needing to do something, you'll succeed or die trying, and I worry about that lack of self-preservation and moderation."</p><p>"Has anyone who's ever truly made something of their lives been a <em>moderate</em>, <em>sensible</em> person?"</p><p>"Without such cussed determination, you'd never have chosen medical school or neurosurgery, let alone done both to a level of excellence that gets noticed by just about everyone. You are amazingly creative — your first shunt design is testament to that, and I get why you want to carry on with that in a way that you haven't been able to at King's. You are ambitious, and your drive to succeed is nothing short of astounding." John draws a breath. "But it comes at a price. You push yourself to such extremes that it makes me worry about the cost to you: your health, your happiness, your peace of mind. I have a vested interest in those. I know what it costs you to do these things, to deal with people, to cope with the challenges, to overcome the hurdles."</p><p>"Are you worried that I won't have time and energy to spare for you? Do you think I will be less able to contribute something to our home life together? Or is it more that you think I won't be able to cope with GOSH if you're not there to be my get-out-of-jail card when I make a mess of things?" </p><p>There is something in these questions that makes John sad. Does Sherlock really believe that he is so shallow and self-centred to be thinking such things? Admittedly, he's had some petty thoughts lately when it comes to Edgar, but it's the last thing he wants to signal to Sherlock that he doesn't believe in his husband. "You've changed a lot since the days when I first knew you and sometimes… sometimes I wonder if I've just stayed the same, and not in very good ways. Sometimes I worry you might… outgrow me, outgrow us if I no longer have to be the one to sort things out with Anderson. You decided on your own to seek therapy to help you resolve some things even though you'd had some pretty shitty experiences with it before while I had to be told off by Greg for being a coward about needing help myself. I'm not the one who finally had the guts to tell your family the truth about the way they had been dealing with you. And you're already doing this thing with Edgar to sort out some of the domestic stuff that gets in the way of our time together. You did all of those things yourself; you didn't need me. And that's okay."</p><p>Sherlock has broken his gaze and is looking away. Quietly, he says "You're wrong. I do <em>need</em> you. But not that way, not so much anymore. Not as a carer or a minder or a cleaner-up-of-my-mistakes. I need you to love me. Just that. When you do, then I feel like I have a foundation on which to build, because if… if you can appreciate me, then maybe I'm not so…" he trails out and sighs.</p><p>John scoots forward to sit at the edge of his seat. He places a palm on Sherlock's knee and gives it a gentle stroke. "Sometimes it worries me that you use me as some sort of a measure of things. You should be the one to be proud of what you've achieved, and I'm not always sure you are. There's always the next thing, the next challenge, and sometimes it feels you keep trying to prove something to both yourself and other people, maybe your mother in particular, and it never stops."</p><p>Sherlock now looks a bit annoyed. "You told me to listen and not interrupt, but you do the same. You shouldn't underestimate your contribution to my well-being. Without you, I would never consider trying anything like this. Because of you, I've gone from hating people and refusing to deal with them to seeing all that as something I could maybe do well enough to manage even if people can see that I don't do it the way they expect. <em>With</em> you, I think I want to give it a go. I don't need you to do it for me, I just need… you. But if it turns out that you think that taking the offer will put this…" he gestures between him and John, "…under intolerable strain, then I will turn it down without any regrets. You matter more to me than any other part of my life, John."</p><p>"I don't want to hold you back. I <em>won't</em> hold you back. What's the worst thing that could happen? Your contract expires, there's no renewal, and you get back to King's one experience richer."</p><p>"One <em>bad</em> experience richer, with a blot on my record."</p><p>"Only if you don't look at it realistically. The other group who tried to create that shunt effed the whole thing up. Even with all the fail-safes built into your contract, even if you turned out to be the best research team leader in the world, it would still be a monumental task. It's not a pass–or–fail thing, Sherlock. Even advancing the project beyond the early stages, getting it off to a good start, might be considered a success. As long as you stay realistic about what's going on and are willing to make changes in how you do things, it should be fine. If you put in the same effort and determination and willingness to think differently that you've put in with Alice and with us, then I doubt this project could have a better leader. You have the one thing those other people don't have — your brain — and that's why they asked you, instead of just having an open application process."</p><p>Sherlock is looking thoughtful. "Joanna wanted to know whether I had talked to my family about the decision. I told her that you are the only one whose opinion I value. My mother, father and brother would all be arguing against me trying to do this."</p><p>"Well, it's not up to them, and I also don't want you to feel like you need to prove something to me in the course of this project. I won't ever say 'I told you so' — I'll just do my best to help. And even your family are learning that you are more than capable. Having your dad staying here for the chemo sessions, but it was good because you took the initiative to use the opportunity to rebuild some trust. Who knows, maybe even Violet might come around in time. And it'll be all thanks to you."</p><p>"I just hope it doesn't turn into an <em>I-told-you-so</em> moment for her if it doesn't work out." Sherlock sounds bitter.</p><p>"Hey… it's okay to be anxious, as long as it doesn't get out of hand. There are escape tunnels built in; you've planned this well. Maybe with Violet, you have to settle for a truce rather than a victory."</p><p>Sherlock nods, standing up and crunching up into a ball the paper bag in which his croissant had arrived. He tosses it across the kitchen where it lands straight in the sink.</p><p>It makes John smirk. "I envy your surgeon's eye-hand coordination." He rises to his feet as well, steps into Sherlock's orbit and wraps his arms around his waist. "Come here."</p><p>He's relieved when Sherlock wraps his own around John's neck with some urgency. John tilts his neck so that he can plot a course for a kiss; mostly a chaste one since there may still be things to say, and he's not certain they're in the mood to take things to the bedroom tonight. It's been a week since they'd last had sex, but it's mostly a weekend activity since Sherlock often needs a bit of time off work to settle into the right mindset.</p><p>John doesn't feel the urge right now, either. Instead, he relishes just holding Sherlock. Neither speaks for several minutes, until Sherlock retreats and kneads his own bicep, looking slightly apprehensive again.</p><p>"I'm going to say yes to GOSH with one caveat: I need you to tell me if and when I take on too much and become stretched too thin. I have been reliably informed I am not very good at spotting the signs."</p><p>John laughs, and sooner rather than later, his relieved amusement is mirrored by the smile on Sherlock's features. "Well, I think I can do that. I believe that topic's covered on page sixteen on my extensive notes on the care and feeding of mad geniuses."</p><p><em>That still leaves the question of what to do about Edgar</em>.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Shared Responsibility</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Perhaps it's pertinent to comment that the Covid epidemic is not happening in this universe; we've got enough of it in our real lives right now. However, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23411305">there is a short story J wrote earlier</a> which isn't an official part of this series but details how our two doctors might be dealing with the arrival of the epidemic in London.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Two weeks later, on a Monday evening, John is icing his knee. A busy day on the OR floor supervising two trainees has made the joint achy and a bit swollen again. He'd run his longest distance so far last night but is now paying the price for it.</p><p>Sherlock notices what he's doing right away after walking into the flat and shedding his coat. "I told you to show that to Laura," Sherlock comments.</p><p>John looks up, surprised because the familiar baritone is hoarse and quiet, and very nasal. "Yeah, I'm beginning to think the same. It will be a shame if injury stops me from doing the run — it's just six weeks away." He'd signed up for a 10k charity run as a member of a King's College admin team even though he's not run as a hobby before. Thankfully, there are ready-made training programs available online. He wonders if he should have invested in a pair of proper running shoes — would that have kept his knee from acting up? He'd had a ligament injury as a teen as a result of a rugby tackle; could be that some effect of it still remains.</p><p>"I'll see if she's got a minute tomorrow," John says. The bag of ice is beginning to sweat droplets, so he rises from his seat to put it away. He grimaces as his knee crackles and snaps.</p><p>"Sounds like there might be a plica that keeps sliding in and out of the joint," Sherlock suggests.</p><p>John watches him rub his face with his palms and drop into a chair. His eyes look glassy when he opens them again to regard John tiredly.</p><p>"Coming down with something?" John asks.</p><p>"Possibly. Throat feels like someone rubbed it with sandpaper."</p><p>"You sound the part. Tea alright?"</p><p>"Yes, please." Sherlock grabs an old throw from John's chair and wraps it around his shoulders even though he's still wearing his suit jacket.</p><p>Passing him on his way to the kitchen, John briefly presses the back of his hand to Sherlock's forehead. "That's a bit warm. You really might be coming down with some bug, I think. Paracetamol?"</p><p>"Took one of those powder sachets of it at Ormond Street before my Uber arrived. It's not doing much."</p><p>The fact that Sherlock has deigned to medicate himself already must mean that he's feeling quite rotten. Usually, he shrugs off all mild infections and insists that he's fine and needs to just get on with his work.</p><p>He's shivering a little when John brings him a mug of tea.</p><p>"Did you get your flu jab this year?"</p><p>A dismissive flick of the wrist. "I use hand disinfectant and rarely have to venture to A&amp;E these days. I don't catch such pedestrian infections."</p><p>"The way you look right now begs to differ, and you touch door handles and things just like anybody else."</p><p>"I've never had influenza, and I'm not about to start now," Sherlock announces, as though it is completely within his power to decide which microbes are allowed to take residence in his respiratory tract. He sneezes.</p><p>"Might not be influenza. Might just be something <em>really</em> beneath you like a rhinovirus," John teases him.</p><p>Sherlock bristles and wraps the throw even tighter around his torso.</p><p>John worries whether his partner's demanding schedule may be to blame; too much stress, too much work can undermine an immune system. He had worried that taking on this new project might end up with Sherlock mentally exhausted. Is this the first sign of a problem? John has to admit that Sherlock is very rarely ill. Then again, he's seemed more optimistic and enthusiastic about the Steadman unit than anxious.</p><p>Sherlock hasn't commented much on how Edgar has been doing as a prospective assistant. They had agreed on a longish trial period, and perhaps a lack of complaints means that the young man's performance has been acceptable. He hasn't shown up at their flat much, which suits John just fine.</p><p>When they get to bed, Sherlock falls asleep almost instantly, but John is restless with worry; it doesn't help that every time he turns over, his knee gives him a sharp twinge of pain. Since when had the two of them become such a pair of crocks?</p><p><br/>
_____________________</p><p> </p><p>At six in the morning, John pries his lids open just before his alarm goes off.</p><p>Sherlock is fast asleep, which is not unusual — he's not a morning person, nor is he ever the first out of bed. But, there's something about his breathing that catches John's attention. It's a bit fast and a bit shallow.</p><p>John clicks on the lamp on the bedside cabinet. Sherlock is tightly cocooned into his bedding and his fringe curls, messy and flat, are plastered against his forehead. He looks pale, and when John reaches out to touch the back of his hand to his forehead, he can sense the heat radiating from his husband before his fingers meet with skin. Judging by the sweat and the shivering, the fever must have gone up and down during the night. John had thought he'd heard Sherlock get up at night but had been too sleepy to pay attention to what he'd been doing. Sitting up, John spots a bottle of paracetamol and an empty glass of water on the bedside cabinet on Sherlock's side. He must have taken one in the middle of the night, and now it's worn off.</p><p>John rearranges some of his curls so that they won't tickle his eyelids, then scoots closer so that he can sling an arm over Sherlock's waist and pull him tightly against his torso. Being against Sherlock under their duvet is like leaning against a human-sized hot water bottle.</p><p>Sherlock stirs, blinking slowly. "What?" he mutters.</p><p>"No work for you today. I'll go get the thermometer in a moment."</p><p>"'s just some virus."</p><p>"A virus you don't want to be spreading around or invading into your myocardium if you over-exert yourself."</p><p>"N't my d'r," Sherlock protests, sighs and burrows his forehead against John's chest.</p><p>"When did you last take paracetamol? I could get you some ibuprofen as well for the fever."</p><p>"No, I…" Sherlock protests, raises his head to survey the room with an alarmingly hazy gaze. He turns around under the duvet, reaches his hand out as though looking for something, then tries to turn again… the result of which is that he falls off the bed onto the carpet.</p><p>John flips his side of the duvet off and springs to his feet. His knee complains, which he ignores; he's by Sherlock's side in no time. "What are you…? What? No, no, no…" he mutters when Sherlock appears to be trying to shove himself under the bed instead of trying to get up. "Up we get."</p><p>"––go to work," Sherlock mutters, eyes drifting closed as John drags him to his shaky feet and leans him down to sit on the bed.</p><p>"Nope. Back to bed with you."</p><p>"How did I get here?"</p><p>"This bed or existence in general?" John can't help teasing.</p><p>Sherlock squints and his brows knit together in an uncoordinated manner. "I've… project––"</p><p>"Yes, you do have a project, and it's called staying the fuck under the covers."</p><p>This isn't new for John. When fever-delirious, the first and foremost thing on Sherlock's mind is always to head to work because he's convinced that he's got an operation on. John sits next to him on the edge of the bed, palm firmly on his duvet-covered hip until the shivering, goose-bumped Sherlock succumbs to the sleep-inducing lure of the warm bed. John goes to get him more water, but by the time he comes back, Sherlock is no longer just resting but snoring loudly, thanks to his stuffy airways.</p><p>They each nurse at least one respiratory infection a year thanks to being exposed to patients at A&amp;E and elsewhere in the hospital, but mostly they're mild and don't require staying home from work. John recalls two paediatricians mentioning that there are loads of adenovirus cases currently in London, and its cluster of symptoms can be quite a nasty one even in adults: high fever, sore throat, malaise.</p><p>John doesn't want to leave his partner alone like this. He's an adult, yes, and can usually sort himself out when sick, but with this high a fever, john worries he'll do something stupid and get hurt.</p><p>There's no way for John to stay at home to look after him, though. He's got too much on at the moment, and there is no possible cover available. John goes to the sitting room and drops into his chair, mobile in hand.</p><p>There <em>is</em> a potential solution, but he doesn't <em>like</em> it.</p><p>Gritting his teeth, John selects the right number.</p><p>Edgar sounds delighted when he answers the phone. "John; good morning! What can I do for you?"</p><p>"Hi. It's more about what you can do for Sherlock."</p><p>"Of course, of course, obviously. Yes?"</p><p>"I need you to make sure he <em>doesn't</em> go to work today."</p><p>"Ahem––"</p><p>"He's caught something and needs to stay the hell out of Ormond Street, lest he gives it to some kid with leukaemia. I mean, I obviously wouldn't want you to catch it, either, but–– Look, I should be already on my way to King's, but I don't trust him to stay in bed. Either he's delirious and might just crawl into a cab in his pyjamas, or he might just get lucid enough after some ibuprofen to chuck off his pyjamas and stumble into a cab. He's done it before."</p><p>Once, in the early days of their relationship, John had been astounded to bump into Sherlock at lunch after leaving him at home that morning to nurse a feverish sinusitis which had developed after a head cold. A doctor should know better, especially after needing to sit down in the middle of the ward round that morning. He'd admitted to it after John had seen him nearly falling asleep standing at the canteen queue. '<em>I got too bored at home</em>' had been his excuse. John considered it quite a feat, considering he must've taken a cab to King's not two hours after John had gone to work.</p><p>He doesn't like the idea of summoning Edgar for what should definitely be his task — to watch over Sherlock in this state — but it's too practical a solution on which to pass up. <em>Since Edgar is now apparently a part of our life, he'd better earn his keep.</em></p><p>"You wish for me to attend to him at your flat?" asks the PA.</p><p>"If you'd be so kind, yes."</p><p>"Certainly, but I must warn you I'm not much of a nurse, snot and all that. Is there anything I should pick up from a pharmacy on my way there?"</p><p>John grabs his keys and hurries downstairs while on the phone. He'd parked on a side street just around the corner. "There should be stuff at the flat he can take; he'll know what to pick, of course. If he's too out of it, just help him shove a paracetamol down every six hours. Just… don't give him any of the pseudoephedrine — Sudafed, I mean — it makes him too perky and then he <em>will</em> go to work. And not the co-codamol, either, if he finds it and of course he bloody will. I keep some in the house for my shoulder, but it's best if he steers clear of that." John doesn't volunteer an explanation of why. A former drug user and a prodrug that gets metabolised into morphine is not a good combination.</p><p>"Cough syrup?"</p><p>"None of the ones without opiates are any better than a placebo. Anything warm with honey should work just as well."</p><p>"I think I can manage that," Edgar offers eagerly.</p><p>Now in the driver's seat, John drums the steering wheel with his fingertips as he considers whether to disclose what more is on his mind. In the end, he decides to come out with it. "As patients go, he's a terrible one. Either he's in denial, or — once you convince him he <em>is</em> a patient — he'll be all the drama. There's certain stuff he hates particularly viciously such as a strep throat and the sort of malaise that fever gives you; you know when even the blanket hurts a bit everywhere?"</p><p>"I am familiar with that, yes."</p><p>"Well, those two are… particularly taxing for him with his… I mean…"</p><p>"John," Edgar interrupts. "It seems you are attempting to communicate something with a very roundabout manner. I promise whatever shall pass through your lips will remain between us."</p><p>John is impressed. Edgar does pick up on a lot of things. "Okay. Look, I'm not saying you have to sit there and keep him company all day. He's a grown man and a highly trained professional, but there's stuff that's harder for him than other people." John grits his teeth; he's doing it again. Trying to be circumspect. "I'd prefer to be there myself because I know him."</p><p>"Of course." This sounds like a prompt to continue, and Edgar's tone is expectant and slightly baffled.</p><p><em>Bite the bullet, Watson.</em> "He's autistic."</p><p>He regrets the words the minute they have been said. Sherlock has not seemed hesitant at all to share details about himself with Edgar since many personal titbits are things the man needs to know to help organise their life, but this has always been something Sherlock has sought to conceal from everyone. John wonders if he'll be livid that he's said it. He sighs. The damage is now done, and he can only hope Edgar will keep his promise not to tell Sherlock what John has gone and said.</p><p>Edgar's response, however, takes John by surprise.</p><p>"I know that," the PA offers readily. "He disclosed to the GOSH HR people on my very first day that he was neuroatypical; I was in the room."</p><p>John is stunned by this revelation. Sherlock keeps his ASD diagnosis private from just about everyone, so to find that Edgar — not to mention the GOSH HR department — was trusted so quickly is quite a surprise.  He wonders how exactly Sherlock had phrased things. It sounds as though Edgar isn't the least bit put off by this — he had just sounded like they were discussing the weather and not something that Sherlock treats as the worst skeleton in his closet.</p><p><em>In for a penny, in for a pound</em>. "He's got SPD — sensory processing disorder — as part of it. Do you know what that is?" John asks.</p><p>"I will, in a moment, if you think it's pertinent for me to quickly learn more."</p><p>John hears typing in the background, as well as traffic noises. Is it some consolation to him that at least the SPD had been kept from Edgar?</p><p>"My Uber's here," Edgar then adds, "by the time I get to Baker Street, I shall have fortified myself with information. John?"</p><p>"Yeah?" John has manoeuvred himself out of parallel parking and presses down on the accelerator since his light's turned green.</p><p>"These additional details will remain in confidence until Sherlock tells me himself. I can, and I will manage things today in a way from which he cannot deduce the fact that you and I have spoken of this. The very <em>last </em>thing I would want is for either of us to fall into his disfavour because you extended a helping hand of information to me."</p><p>"Yeah, okay," john relents. He still isn't sure he's made the right decision but, as a popular saying in the Holmes family goes, <em>needs must</em>. John pities Edgar; he really does: once the fever drops, Sherlock will be a menace today. He will attempt to spite his flu by pretending it doesn't exist, and then languish like a dying man when he once again begins feeling too ill to function.</p><p>"Good luck," John adds before ringing off by pressing the call disconnect button on his steering wheel.</p><p>Only to press redial a second later.</p><p>"He doesn't need mothering or babysitting," he declares right after Edgar's hello. "It's not like that. But he's not very good at understanding when he's stressed or tired or ill, because self-care is not a priority for him. He's gotten better at being aware of such things but… he needs looking after. There's a difference," john stresses. "He can manage, but if he's to take on something as big as this project that'll test his certain abilities to the max, there can't be other stressors. And I can't–– I <em>won't</em> be there to manage them. It'll have to be you for some of the stuff I used to help him with, and I'm sorry if what I've asked you to do today is a bit strange––"</p><p>Edgar cuts in determinedly. "<em>John</em>. This doesn't even rate on that scale. I've drawn graphs of mistresses' routes through palazzos so that they won't come across a wife; I've shopped for audio systems for <em>dogs</em> on yachts; I've managed panic attacks and breakups and some things that won't ever cross my lips. I already know Sherlock's particular taste in clothing, cosmetics and hair products, lighting, food, textures of upholstery fabrics, not to mention people. I think I can handle this. He told me that he has relied heavily on you at work for certain things and that it'll be a major change for him. Perhaps one might suggest it's a big change for you as well, John, even if you will still both be working at King's College Hospital three days a week."</p><p><em>What is Edgar on about?</em> John had worked at King's before Sherlock arrived. If anything, his job might get easier if there's less of Sherlock to manage. Not that he does it that much anymore. Except at home. And hadn't he just said that he doesn't want to call it <em>management</em>; that word sounds like something Violet Holmes might say about Sherlock.</p><p>Suddenly, John's confusion dissipates as the truth hits him: he's acting jealous, everyone else has picked up on it, and Edgar is trying to reassure him it's unnecessary. <em>Am I really that obvious?</em> He knows that he's not insecure about Sherlock romantically, but… <em>companionably</em>? Is that even a thing? Or, is there the tiniest bit of professional envy at play as well? Then again, he has learned to be quite content where he is. Inspired by Sherlock's GOSH offer, John had negotiated a reshuffle of admin within the King's Trust which has released some of his time so he can have more OR days, and Sherlock and Malawi had proven that he could make a change when he needs to. Yes, he had once struggled with a sense of always losing out in comparison to his genius husband, but he likes to think he's put that past him.</p><p>No, what he's jealous of is simply that someone else is spending a lot of time in Sherlock's company, and that they have the opportunity to support and help <em>John's </em>husband. Until Edgar had showed up, John had not quite realised how important and purposeful it makes him feel to be the one to look after Sherlock. Now, someone else is sharing those duties. Why is it so damned hard not to want them gone so that it'll be just the two of them like always?</p><p>"I can't work with Sherlock without your support," Edgar tells him. "And I'm not certain I have it yet."</p><p>John feels called out on the spot and tries to rationalise. Edgar's efforts might earn them more opportunities for planned relationship time — John has already seen the associated calendar markings. Sherlock had even sent him the electronic markers to put on his own calendar, but it's not the same, is it? Is John really so old-fashioned that he wants to be the one to cushion all the interactions between Sherlock and the rest of the universe? Edgar's presence isn't about John's life or John's career. Sherlock is going to be a big name, a big player in British surgery. All such men must have secretaries and so on; Sherlock had relayed to him what Mycroft had commented on the topic.</p><p>What if, by employing a clearly skilful, dedicated and clever young man, it means that Sherlock is being realistic enough to accept that he'll need help in certain areas? It would be easy to dismiss hiring Edgar as an act of acquiring a crutch or being posh and lazy, but John knows in his heart this isn't what's happening. Sherlock's decision-making regarding GOSH had been meticulous, and he hates new people more than John does. Being willing to put up with a PA is… astounding.</p><p>What if this is Sherlock being sensible?</p><p>John suddenly laughs at the concept, shaking his head with a fond smile. Admittedly, a few days ago, he had been in a bad mood at home when Sherlock had given him nary a glance as he pored over tons of documentation connected to the Centre into the late hours. John had gone to bed and brooded for hours, thinking that if Sherlock had stayed full-time at King's that he'd have more of the man's attention when they got home.</p><p><em>Stop it</em>, he tells himself, because he doesn't want to be that sort of a husband: small-minded and controlling. Research has always been important to Sherlock. Challenging himself is that, too. John doesn't feel very at home in high society, in a world of millionaires and royalties, and PR and CEOs and personal assistants. He comes from a very modest background, much more modest than Sherlock's academic parents. He remembers his mum doing the taxes with a battered old calculator by the kitchen table.</p><p>"Sorry," John says, feeling like a weight has been lifted with this realisation and consequent decision. "All this is just so new. For me. For us."</p><p>"Of course," Edgar confirms. "There's always an adjustment process, and in a scenario where a personal assistant has not been employed before, the appropriate boundaries must be sought, sometimes by bouncing up against them a few times to test their sturdiness. It's always an intrusion, and both parties must accept it, or there will be resentment."</p><p>"I promise you there's none of that," John says with more conviction than he feels. <em>I need to try for Sherlock's sake</em>.</p><p>"Thank you, John."</p><p>At least today will be a suitable test to destruction of the young man's abilities. Dealing with a Sherlock who is outstandingly cranky and only wearing a sheet can be a formidable challenge even for a captain of the RAMC.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>__________________</p><p> </p><p>That afternoon, John manages to wrap up his administrative duties early, and after a walk down to the OR floor to see that today's operations are not running overtime and that there are no acute rota issues he needs to sort out, he sends his often overworked secretary home early and heads to the staff garage. His day had been too busy to call home; at some point, he'd decided to trust Edgar to inform him if there is something worrying happening.</p><p>Before pressing the engine start-up button of their BMW, he shoots off a text to the PA that he should be home before rush hour starts proper. He has no doubt that Sherlock has been well looked after, but still feels an early pull of home.</p><p>Edgar replies to his text from the Tesco Metro nearest to their flat, informing John that he's picking up some requested bits and bobs and that Sherlock has mostly been sleeping. John tells him to take the rest of the day off after he drops off the shopping — he's not certain what hours on which Sherlock and the young man have even agreed.</p><p>When he gets home, John finds the kitchen and sitting room tidy, and a pile of aloe vera -infused tissue packets on the coffee table along with the selection of both over-the-counter and prescription medications suitable for a head cold Edgar must have found in their bathroom cabinet arranged into a neat formation. Cupboard shelves have been stocked with chamomile and ginger tea, and the former makes John smile: he knows Sherlock loathes it. There is ice cream in the freezer and sugary, cold ready-made plastic Frappuccinos in the fridge. <em>It's the perfect combination for Sherlock's incorrigible sweet tooth, a sore throat and his caffeine addiction</em>.</p><p>Feeling indulgent, John grabs one and downs it standing by the kitchen counter.</p><p>The flat is silent, but when John approaches the bedroom, he finds the door ajar and quiet, stuffy snoring coming from inside. Evidence of Sherlock sleeping always gives him an intense sense of relief and serenity; he knows how easily his husband's brain's flimsy-at-best ability to rest can be decimated, and he certainly hasn't been resting enough during the build-up phase of the new research unit.</p><p>John pokes his head into the room. The air in the bedroom is heavier than in the corridor, heady and human. All he can see in the dim light is a head of curls on a mountain of pillows and limbs sprawled starfish-like over the entire bed, duvet only half-covering a tall, lithe silhouette. John retreats back to the sitting room and picks up the newspaper in which he hadn't got very far that morning. After he's done with it, he turns on the TV but keeps the volume low. He doesn't really follow the proceedings on the screen, just feels like having the flickering images for company while replying to some emails.</p><p>Eventually, just as the sunlight is turning golden and streaming in low between the buildings across the street, the bedroom door creaks open and soft, barefoot steps begin approaching. Swaying slightly in the entrance between the kitchen and the sitting room, Sherlock pauses to yawn and run his fingers through his sleep-mussed hair that's sticking in all directions. A rosy tint on his cheekbones has brought a dash to colour to the dull pallor of his skin is complimented by fever-bright, tired eyes. Wordlessly he takes in the sight and makes his way to the sofa, sinking bonelessly onto it next to John who abandons his computer and leans back. He shifts to the left side on the seat so that Sherlock can pull his legs up onto it and straighten them as he scoots closer to John, leaning against him as though sitting in a deck chair. His head lolls onto John's shoulder, and he whines something incomprehensible as he buries his face between John's neck and the backrest.</p><p>A hand pressed on Sherlock's practically heat-radiating forehead tells John he's burning up again. "When did you last take anything?"</p><p>An uncoordinated flap of a hand dismisses the question. "Earlier." Sherlock's baritone has dropped in pitch and is hoarse, wheezy.</p><p>"And have you had any fluids?"</p><p>"Tea. Juice. Water. Edgar was annoyingly persistent." Sherlock lets his head slide from John's shoulder to his lap and closes his eyes. "My brain feels like swiss cheese."</p><p>John smiles fondly. "That's a sign that you don't have to be using it right now."</p><p>He gets a hum in reply and takes in the sight of his partner. Sherlock is wearing an old pair of pyjama bottoms, their fabric thinned, and the dove-grey colour faded by repeated washes. They are hung low on his hips, and his white T-shirt has hiked up to reveal a sliver of concave stomach. John hopes he's not lost weight because of the rush to finish the GOSH project. The man's appetite can disappear as easily as his ability to sleep when he's stressed or very driven. John can make out the faint, mingling smells of Sherlock's salon shampoo, lemon lozenges, fever sweat, aftershave and the very essence of the man. His curls look a mix of frizzed and flattened, and John rearranges his fringe with his fingertips to prevent it from tickling his closed lids before pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. He wraps his arms around him and gives a squeeze.</p><p><em>Mine,</em> he thinks, but the worried possessiveness he's felt ever since the GOSH project had begun seems to have diluted. Edgar may be slowly but surely carving a spot into their lives, but he will always be in the periphery. He's not here to threaten this, the two of them, but to help them reserve the time and energy for precisely this: being together. Recuperating from the stresses of their job. The nearly uncomfortably warm body of Sherlock tucked against him now makes John feel rather silly about the way he's felt irrationally — jealous in a near-juvenile manner of the rapt attention Edgar has received from Sherlock lately.</p><p><em>I don't need to worry about Edgar</em>, he tells himself. This has always been just for John, this bare and honest creature coming to him for comfort. <em>This won't ever be for Edgar; no wonder Sherlock is so wrecked and tired if he's had to spend a good chunk of the day being civil and pretending not to feel like he wants to dissolve into a feverish puddle of snot on the bedroom carpet.</em></p><p>John nudges his shoulder with his knuckles. "I'll get you some meds before you fall asleep."</p><p>Sherlock turns to his side, burying his face in John's stomach. It's obvious he doesn't want to move, nor does he seem willing to part with his new human pillow.</p><p>"Shirt's new, you're not allowed to get snot on it," John teases. There's a grumbling complaint when he pushes Sherlock into a sitting position so that he can slip off the sofa to punch his fingers through the blister packet of ibuprofen sitting on the table after running a glass of water in the kitchen.</p><p>Sherlock grimaces as he swallows down the tablet with the drink, then drops his head back against the top of the backrest and the wall with a faint thud. John knows he hates being ill. When less poorly than right now he's a man with a firm belief in mind over matter, insisting that he's fine and stumbling off to work. When he gets like this — a needy, viscous liquid in human form clinging to John like a limpet — he has to be feeling pretty rotten.</p><p>"Stupid," Sherlock mutters. "I hate this."</p><p>"It passes."</p><p>John notices his bare arms have grown goosebumps again, and that Sherlock is shivering; the fever must be on the rise again. A quick, cursory exam reveals swollen glands under his chin which seem sore. "Could be tonsillitis."</p><p>"Had them out when I was eight. Unlike someone I know who's holding onto his as though they were the crown bloody jewels," he mutters.</p><p>John ignores the nagging. "It's not unheard of to get tonsillitis ever if you've had the surgery. Lots of kids are left with residual tissue."</p><p>"Too much snot to match typical adenovirus presentation, I should think." Sherlock sneezes suddenly, leaning away from John as he turns his face politely towards his left shoulder.</p><p>Thankfully, John had grabbed a handful of those posh tissues from the table when he'd returned to the sofa, and Sherlock accepts one with a grateful nod.</p><p>"My throat's not that sore," he insists, as though he could decide which upper respiratory infections are acceptable for him and which are too pedestrian to even consider.</p><p>"Do you want your duvet?" John offers. "I could move to my chair and let you stretch out here and kip."</p><p>"Yes to duvet, no to you being all the way over there," Sherlock replies with a distasteful expression.</p><p>John takes the now empty water glass to the kitchen, returning soon with a duvet and preparing mentally for the sweltering heat he's bound to soon have to put up with since he'll be having his lap covered with both a thick, down-filled duvet and a lanky git of a consulting neurosurgeon lost to the world.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>There are many things this pandemic is teaching us, and for many doctors one of the lessons should be not to go to work while sick and contagious. According to studies done in several countries (including several surveys in the US and research in many different European countries), an astounding number of doctors think it's a badge of honour to work even when significantly ill. Across the board, nurses and other healthcare personnel have much higher absence rates for illness than doctors. In a study done in J's country many older clinicians prided themselves in never having taken a single sick day and stating that "only losers do that". We doctors should definitely know better than to go to a hospital while contagious with an infection, or compromise patient care when we're otherwise not functioning on an acceptable physical and mental level. For many surgeons like Sherlock, there is great pressure to go to work even when sick, especially if they are the only ones doing certain kinds of procedures at their hospital. Calling in sick means cancelled and postponed surgeries. But: how many patients would want a doctor operating them while ill?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. The New Normal</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Muttering curses under his breath, Sherlock sticks his hand out from under the duvet and grabs his mobile from the bedside cabinet. In the process, he manages to knock a few crumpled-up paper tissues to the floor. It's the third day he's staying home from work with this wretched infection; he'd just managed to fall back asleep after a dose of ibuprofen had kicked in. He'd taken the tablet when Edgar had come by and made him some tea. Edgar had spent most of the first sick day with him and dropped by yesterday to leave some GOSH papers to be signed. Today's visit had served little purpose; perhaps the PA had assumed Sherlock expected him to appear daily because he was being paid a monthly wage.</p><p>Sherlock had been surprised when Edgar had arrived at the flat in the morning two days ago. He had been even more surprised to realise that John had been the one to deliver such summons. Sherlock would have expected his husband to tell Edgar — who John still looks at like something the cat dragged in when he's not in a good mood — to take the day off because Sherlock wouldn't be needing him but instead, John seemed to have decided Sherlock couldn't be left to his own devices, even if he couldn't be the one to stay home and look after him. It has to be a sign of something good that John had trusted Edgar with the task.</p><p>He assumes that it's GOSH ringing him. Normally, he'd ignore phone calls, especially when on sick leave, but contractors for the new unit still keep calling about this and that, needing someone's okay on changes. He's no longer sick enough to postpone the inevitable, so he answers without looking at the screen. "Holmes."</p><p>"Why are you answering like that?" Violet demands to know. "Not very polite."</p><p>"I was expecting it to be––" he trails out, not wanting to explain about the new job or having hired an assistant. He has little tolerance for her scepticism today nor is he interested in hearing her gloat over the fact that he had finally used her condescending Christmas gift. "…a phone salesman."</p><p>"Oh. Your voice sounds strange."</p><p>"It's just a cold."</p><p>"A cold? Where's John?"</p><p>"Why? You think that he needs to wait on me hand and foot, that he's got some magic wand to swish all the snot away?"</p><p>"You'd do well to remember not everyone appreciates all these graphic medical details, dear."</p><p>"I was asleep. I'd do well to go back to that once you manage to spit out what it is you want."</p><p>There's a silence at the other end. It's very unlike his mother. It stretches on for so long that Sherlock drags himself up to a sitting position which brings on a very slight, momentary dizziness. His inner ears must be stuffy, too, to cause such a thing. "Mum?"</p><p>"Is this how it's going to be, then?" Violet asks. She sounds resigned. "That my interest is never welcome?"</p><p>"Interest in what?"</p><p>"You, of course. I spoke to Stella. Why didn't you tell me about this new position to which you were recruited?"</p><p>"It's still a new thing. Didn't want to advertise it––" he sneezes, "––until we'd launched the whole endeavour."</p><p>He expects her to resort to her usual tirade about his recklessness and stupidity in taking up such a job in which he'd invariably fail. It's strange how he suddenly lacks the need to prove anything to her. Maybe he's just too tired and ill. Or… maybe something has changed. <em>I don't need her approval, because I'll never get it, and trying to get her to change will only lead to disappointment. Why bother?</em></p><p>"Oh, Sherlock, she spoke <em>so</em> highly of you!" Violet announces.</p><p><em>Unlike some people</em>. "Nice that someone does."</p><p>"She said they never even considered anyone else for this position. You always were good at research, much better than at clinical work. Apart from operating on people, perhaps."</p><p><em>Here we go again.</em> When he graduated from Cambridge, she had given him a hug he hadn't wanted and, after the obligatory congratulations, she had announced that he was thankfully now free to focus on academia now that all the difficult patient parts were done. He'd relished the look on her face when he announced that he'd been accepted into the specialist training program for neurosurgery at University College.</p><p>"What do you want?" demands Sherlock, his patience waning rapidly.</p><p>"I thought I might call and congratulate you. Your father is very happy for you as well."</p><p>"Thank you," he replies tiredly.</p><p>"John works there as well, then, at this new unit?"</p><p>"No, he stays at King's. And I will continue to work there three days a week. This research engagement is part-time."</p><p>"Is that what you wanted?"</p><p>"Yes. We'll see if two days a week is enough but, for now, it appears a functional division of my time."</p><p>"Mycroft is visiting for the weekend; we were wondering if you and John would be available, but if you're under the weather…"</p><p>He certainly isn't going to put up with a respiratory infection and his big brother at the same time, even if it would be amusing to watch that germophobic git flinch every time he blew his nose in his brother's vicinity. "I believe John is on call this weekend, and I cannot guarantee I would have ceased to be contagious."</p><p>"Can't be helped, then."</p><p>"No." The edge of his mouth quirks up. He knows it's petty to relish disappointing other people but growing up under the reign of Violet Holmes had been a never-ending cavalcade of displeasure. It's a tiny payback he decides he deserves, even if Doctor Pichler might question the maturity of such thinking.</p><p>Oddly enough, Joanna Pichler is also who is in his mother's thoughts: "If you wanted, perhaps we might go see that psychiatrist again."</p><p>"I assumed you wouldn't want to."</p><p>"She seemed quite educated."</p><p>He scoffs and then coughs. "Five years in medical college and then six years in specialist training will do that to you."</p><p>"I meant educated in the sense of being aware of your problems."</p><p>"Yes, well, instead of making assumptions, she asks me things, wants to hear my side of the story and then actually listens."</p><p>"I didn't agree with all those therapists back in the day, you know. The approaches of some of them were quite… ruthless."</p><p>
  <em>Why is she telling me this now? After a lifetime of defending her choices and the things she put me through?</em>
</p><p>"If you find her helpful, then perhaps she is," Violet continues hesitantly.</p><p>Normally, when faced with a confounding conversation such as this, Sherlock would feel apprehensive and anxious. Today, he just wants to be rid of it and sleep. "Thank you for calling," he offers, unsure whether it's the right thing to say at this point.</p><p>"You could make an effort to stay in touch, too, Sherlock," she says, and it almost sounds as though she puts an emphasis on the name she often forgets to use. "I don't want things to be like this between us."</p><p>"Like what?" In his head, Sherlock dares her to blame him, to accuse him of being difficult and defective and ungrateful.</p><p>"That psychiatrist was right in that we need to both give this a go. If you want things to be different, you have to give me a chance for that."</p><p>"Offer Mycroft my deepest condolences for my missing his visit and staying in London."</p><p>"He would think you are being sarcastic."</p><p>"He would be right." Delivering sarcasm is not entirely beyond Sherlock though picking up on and understanding it when perpetrated by others often is.</p><p>"The two of you were the same when you were little," Violet comments thoughtfully, "You wouldn't be caught dead saying you enjoyed each other's company, but when he left for the next school term, you were just <em>stricken</em>. I'm sure he appreciates what you've done for him, both of you, when he was injured."</p><p>Sherlock blinks blearily. He must be hallucinating: after decades of being berated and told off, scolded and yelled at, Violet Holmes has delivered several bouts of praise in the course of a single phone conversation. Whether any of it is genuine and not without ulterior motives remains to be seen. Perhaps it has finally sunk in with her that he is not legally obligated to interact with her — that he gets to decide whether she is worthy of his attention and time.</p><p>"Goodbye, mother," Sherlock says and rings off.</p><p><em>You're still on probation</em>.</p><p><br/>_______________</p><p> </p><p>Three weeks later, John is blearily watching the news, thinking about retreating to bed. It's close to midnight, and they have to get up at six. He yawns, jaw cracking. In contrast, Sherlock looks anything but restful, pacing across the sitting room floor from the kitchen to the coffee table, stabbing his tablet with a finger and occasionally firing off texts on his phone.</p><p>"You're wearing a trench into the floorboards," John comments from the sofa. "Could you switch on the lights?" Currently, the only thing illuminating the room is the blueish flicker from the television and Sherlock's two devices, and John would prefer not to have to fumble down the hall to the bathroom in the dark.</p><p>Sherlock hums as though he'd heard the words but obviously hasn't made a note of what John had actually said.</p><p>"I'm for bed," John tries again. "The exercise I've been getting, preparing for the charity run is taking its toll on my energy levels. Tired muscles need bed rest."</p><p>"Limping on one leg isn't the normal aftermath of exercise. I told you to get that knee looked at the last time you had to start icing it."</p><p>"When I cut down on training miles per week, it was fine." He hadn't wanted to trouble Laura since the pain and the swelling had subsided.</p><p>Sherlock stops, frowns, mutters a curse under his breath, and goes to fetch his laptop.</p><p>John springs to his feet and intercepts him before he gets to the small desk in the corner. "Bed. You. Me. Now."</p><p>"Can't possibly," Sherlock says. "I need to look at architectural prints for the office space but the damned file is not opening and the Ormond Street IT isn't replying to my messages, and even Edgar's flatmate is unavailable."</p><p>"Flatmate? What flatmate? It's <em>midnight</em>, Sherlock, of course, nobody's available."</p><p>"Edgar's cohabiting with a young woman who is an IT whizz." Sherlock grabs his phone and starts typing up yet another text message.</p><p>"Does that give you the right to contact her out of hours?" John is startled at how much Sherlock seems to have learned about his assistant. He never cares about work acquaintances' personal lives, but perhaps the PA shouldn't be grouped in with them.</p><p>"Enough of Cyclone Edgar for today, love," John coaxes, grabs Sherlock's mobile from his hand and slips it into his husband's jacket pocket. "Let the poor bloke sleep and his flatmate, too. For all we know, they might be more than that, and you'd be interrupting something other than sleep. Look, I know you're keyed up." John lowers his voice, letting his hand linger. “Maybe there's something to be done about that."</p><p>Sherlock looks at him sceptically. He has the memory of a goldfish when it comes to believing that anyone can help him turn off his drive to make something happen, especially when he's frustrated by something. After all these years, John knows he's got a few tricks up his sleeve for when Sherlock gets like this: single-minded to the point of agitation. John knows better than to go for a kiss or a cuddle right away; he'd just be swatted away like an annoying insect and snapped at for overwhelming an already stretching-at-the-seams tolerance for stimulation. No, this calls for a more gradual approach to turning off the Great Holmes Intellect.</p><p>John goes to the bookcase and recovers the violin left there, carrying it carefully by the neck. He offers it to Sherlock.</p><p>The offering is reluctantly accepted. "Why?" Sherlock asks in a tight tone, as though he can't work out what he is to do with such an object.</p><p>"Play that thing you were practising last week. It's turned into an earworm I'd prefer to turn off before bed. Sometimes, it helps to hear the end of a song." John has no idea what Sherlock had been playing last week, and he couldn't hum the melody of any of the recently practised pieces if he tried but, as ruses go, Sherlock just might fall for this one.</p><p>He does. He picks up his bow, tightens the horsehairs, glances at John with a hard-to-read expression, then raises the violin to his chin and tunes it before starting to play. After a few measures, his lids drift down, his shoulders relax, and he begins wandering around the sitting room, swinging slightly as he leans into the music.</p><p>John is pleased to see his frantic energy visibly dissipating. The composition sounds modern and not very melodic, and he lingers by the doorway between the kitchen and the hall to listen and to give his husband a bit of space. Eventually, he makes his way to the bathroom, the serenade accompanying his evening routines. Sherlock moves onto some Schubert as John gets into bed — a slightly melancholy, yet oddly wishful piece more befitting bedtime.</p><p>Sherlock slides under the duvet just as John is drifting off some half an hour later. Instead of a book or journal, John's annoyed to see he's brought his tablet. Soon, the crease between Sherlock's brows reappears in the light cast by the tablet, and he starts typing furiously once again.</p><p>John drapes an arm across his husband's chest, trapping his arms against his sides. He uses his free hand to slide the screen away from his husband's grip.</p><p>"I was in the middle of an email," Sherlock complains.</p><p>"Which no one is going to read or reply to at this hour." Turning to his side, John threads his other hand under his pillow so he can slip it under Sherlock's neck. The skin there is warm and smooth, and he enjoys the feeling of it beneath his fingertips. He begins pushing his fingertips up the skin covering the bony ridge of the occiput and is pleased when Sherlock leans into it.</p><p>"I have many things to attend to tomorrow," Sherlock muses. "I have not prepared adequately for even half of them. I must prove that I'm on top of all of it."</p><p>"You don't need to prove anything," John points out. "They handpicked you because they already believe you can do this."</p><p>"I'm not a leader," Sherlock says, frustration in his tone as he puts the tablet away and stares at the ceiling. "I don't know what to do with people; I don't care enough to be able to predict what their needs will be. They have to be able to tell me what they need, but how on earth can I manage to put that into a job description?  When it comes to the interviews, there are going to be other people on the panel. I can't come out and ask point-blank, '<em>can you cope with a boss who is neuroatypical</em>'? If I don't, and they can't, it will be a disaster."</p><p>"You will be able to suss this out, Sherlock. You have Edgar's help, and you shouldn't underestimate your instincts. For example, you knew Anderson was a pain in the arse the first time you met him. Asking people how self-directed they are and what sort of management style they need are both perfectly acceptable questions to ask in an interview."</p><p>Sherlock is still tense; John can feel the muscles under his fingers are taut. In the dark, he wants to be reassuring but knows that there are more things Sherlock needs to vent before he will be able to relax. "What's really bothering you?"</p><p>"What if I can't anticipate other people's needs to the minimum level required for this? I'm not Edgar — or you."</p><p>"You will have people there who are highly competent and perfectly capable of telling you what it is they require. All you need to do is encourage people to come to you. Open door policy, hm?"</p><p>"I don't want an open door. Noise is distracting. So are people. I don't want them loitering around my space."</p><p>"It's a turn of phrase, Sherlock; I didn't mean it literally. Just tell them to inform you if there's anything they lack in terms of resources. Or if they have suggestions or feedback."</p><p>"Is that what you do? You ask them to tell you things, and they tell you things? It can't possibly be that simple."</p><p>John smiles wistfully. "No, it's not that always that simple, but it is probably simpler than you think. You don't have to be their friend — a boss can't really be that. It's always a bit of a lonely spot, but maybe you'll adapt to that better than most. Just listen to them, don't belittle them, and you'll do fine."</p><p>"I don't want to be their <em>friend.</em> How do I get them to listen to me?"</p><p>"They will because you're in charge. Making them feel listened to is going to, well, make them more prone to listening to you in turn."</p><p>"How do you know all this?"</p><p>"Experience. Having had crap bosses. Hopefully learning over the years not to be a very crap boss myself."</p><p>"I can't deduce those sorts of rules from my experiences of being an employee."</p><p>"It's a learning process. Nobody is great at it right away. It's a bit like any relationship: first, you have to get to know them, and then you can start building a rapport."</p><p>"What if they don't like me?"</p><p>"They don't have to, but they are obligated to treat you well and respect you. They <em>know</em> why you were picked for this, and that's why they will be more forgiving than the average co-workers you'd have somewhere else. They know you're great," John tells him and leans in to kiss Sherlock's cheek. "You just have to believe it, too."</p><p>"I know I have the requisite academic credentials, the surgical skills and the intellect."</p><p>"But you worry about the people stuff."</p><p>"Obviously."</p><p>"You're the one who took this on, telling me that you can't know if you don't try.  Are you getting cold feet?"</p><p>"My feet are perfectly warm, whatever that has to do with this conversation. Pichler has made the point that being on the Spectrum doesn't automatically make someone bad at romantic relationships, or bad at teaching. Maybe it doesn't make the person very good at those, either, but she says those things can be managed."</p><p>"<em>We</em> already know you can manage relationships, both romantic and professional. You already know that you are a fantastic surgeon, and you'll learn to be a good boss because you're putting more effort into that then most of NHS high brass idiots ever will. You'll be alright. I'm sure of it."</p><p>"I'm not," Sherlock scoffs. "But I will try."<br/><br/></p><p>______________________</p><p> </p><p>The next four weeks pass in a frenzy. Sherlock seems to shed some of his anxiety and gains an enthusiasm that's a joy for John to observe. He seems keen to involve himself in all the minutiae of the founding of the new centre: networking with other hospitals to establish research links so his project won't duplicate but can draw in their work in a way that will make GOSH the centre of excellence the Trust wants. He interviews the GOSH HR managers and selects one that seems to have a grasp of what he needs without being a witless bureaucrat, and they get to work on drawing up the organisational chart. Now that the ball is rolling, Sherlock seems much less worried about interviewing potential trainees, consultants and the biomedical engineer candidates, designing offices and other workspaces, and working his way through the bureaucracy and paperwork needed to put the project plan together.</p><p>King's College has allowed Sherlock to spend the first two weeks of his new contract on a full-time basis at GOSH. Lestrade had wrangled it so that this would be his pro-rata of research leave that he'd be entitled to at King's, anyway. It had been a godsend, allowing Sherlock to get stuck properly into the new initiative. To John, Greg had admitted that because King's will act as a partnering hospital and having the head of the new centre work for them as well, it's going to bring prestige to both NHS trusts. Sherlock had garnered some favour with his boss by negotiating collaboration at GOSH for some of King's College's languishing neurosurgical research projects.</p><p>Today, at lunch, John relays to Lestrade his optimism about how Sherlock's new work arrangement was turning out.</p><p>"Just don't let it go to his head, will you?" replies Greg, "I need him back in the OR in two weeks. This will give me some time to get my head around the case schedule, so he gets shot of the boring stuff."</p><p>John uses the opportunity to get Lestrade's sponsorship for his charity run.</p><p>"Better you than me," is the senior neurosurgeon's response. "My bones are too old to pound any pavements, no matter how worthy the cause." </p><p>The running has turned out to be something that John enjoys, even if his joints are paying the price. With his spouse as absorbed as he is at GOSH, John has used the spare time to work out with a couple of other people from King's who were also doing the run.  The distance between the flat and the hospital is a convenient 5.4 miles — nearly 9K — so he's taken to running it twice a week instead of taking the car out. Without having to worry about Sherlock, he can take the tube into work, and then run home. He's lost weight and tightened up his muscles a lot, sleeps better and interestingly enough, really enjoys having the time to stop thinking about anything other than putting one foot in front of another. It means he arrives home much more relaxed than he would have after having to battle London's traffic in the car. It's just that his right knee is swollen again and keeps locking, the joint cracking and snapping, causing pain to shoot down his shin. He's never injured it enough to stop his training, and his left one is fine. He did take a bit of a stumble during his first week of running, but he hadn't fallen or even hit it on anything. Why would it cause so much trouble?</p><p>Regardless, everyone but John's complaining joint seems to agree that Sherlock's new arrangement is a good one. When Sherlock returns to working at King's three days a week after his two-week leave, John notices a change in him. He had worried that Sherlock might find it hard to switch gears, going from the project planning work back into clinical work, but in fact, the opposite seems to be true.  Perhaps it helps that, in his first proper week splitting between GOSH and King's, he has a very challenging surgical case re-operating on a pontine astrocytoma. As usual, the surgery is a triumph, and he comes home fizzing with energy. Shedding the spinal work is a big help; all of Sherlock's surgical schedule is now something he seems to look forward to rather than something boring to endure. Despite some initial grumbling from other consultants, Lestrade had been able to offer his missing days as a part-time term contract to a young neurosurgeon who is only just returning to work after extended maternity leave.</p><p>All in all, things seem to truly be working out. <br/><br/></p><p>__________________</p><p><br/>A month into the new split schedule, over supper, John asks Sherlock whether things at GOSH are living up to his expectations.</p><p>"You sound like Joanna — padding your question with carefully selected, neutral terms." Sherlock twirls some spaghetti around his fork. The bolognese sauce is from the Waitrose delivery, re-heated in the microwave. One advantage of Edgar's service is that the cupboard and fridge are never bare, and the number of take-away meals has dropped; they're eating cheaper and healthier.</p><p>John smiles. "I don't want to prejudice your answer."</p><p>He investigates the mixed salad on his side plate approvingly: a mix of edamame beans, peas and lettuce with a mint dressing, delivered in a double-portion pack. Both it and the spaghetti go well with the glass of Chianti that he's poured. That's another innovation of Edgar's: he'd persuaded John to use a Vacuvin system to keep opened bottles in pristine drinking condition for days. '<em>Life's too short to drink bad wine, John. No need to finish a bottle or waste any of it if you only want a glass,</em>" Edgar had declared.</p><p>"How's it been for <em>you</em>?" Sherlock puts another forkful of food in and gives John a raised eyebrow as he chews it. "That's as important as my experiences."</p><p>"Good, actually. Surprisingly good."</p><p>Sherlock nods. "Me, too. I keep waiting for something to go seriously wrong, but so far, so good, in terms of work. What about you and me?"</p><p>John swallows in a hurry. "That's what I meant. I'm not in a position to judge the research days at GOSH, and you know as well as I do what's being said at King's, so I was talking about the time we spend together at home.  You are your usual distracted self, and I am, well, what I have always been. It's kind of surprising, really, how little has changed."</p><p>"What about Edgar? Is he too intrusive? The end of his trial period is coming up. Should we carry on?"</p><p>John shrugs. "I'm not the client here. If you think he's useful to you, then yeah, do keep him on. To be honest, I don't see that much of a change from where I am sitting, except that we haven't had an argument about the food order or laundry or transport in weeks, and I've not felt like nagging at you about anything lately. That's a relief, but whether it's worth the fortune you must be paying him, I don't know."</p><p>A little defensively, Sherlock purses his lips. "What you don't see is probably all the better for not being seen. I find him useful. I don't have to rely on you to do tedious things for me."</p><p>Does John feel a twinge of jealousy about that? Maybe a little. He has noted how much Sherlock refers to things that Edgar has done or helped with, so the idea that there is more that he isn't aware of makes him a bit curious.</p><p>"Maybe we could come up with something as far as possible from tedious to do tonight. It's been a while, you know?"</p><p>"For the first time in weeks, I don't have any pressing matters to attend to tonight."</p><p>John grins. "Really? Well, great, then, if you can get me an appointment with the elusive Mister Holmes."</p><p>After Afghanistan, he would have made such a remark in a cutting tone, wanting to take Sherlock down a peg because of his own issues and professional jealousy. Now, he understands how Sherlock just cannot flip a switch in his brain and go from being intensely focused on a work project to wanting sex.</p><p>The smile he gets is enough of an answer. Instead of insulting his priorities, this is Sherlock telling him he's in the right headspace to enjoy some time together.</p><p>It is no surprise to either of them that after dinner, they don't watch television but head into the bedroom for something more intimate.</p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Performance Anxiety</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Looking around the board room table, Sherlock tries to stretch his abdominal muscles inconspicuously to stifle a tremor-like tic. It's something that happens when he's exceptionally anxious and under pressure. No matter how much he's prepared for this moment, he's utterly terrified that it is going to go wrong.</p><p>"<em>It's just </em><em>butterflies in your stomach. It means we just have to stiff up our lip and be brave, don't we?</em>" his mother had told him as a child when his body reacted like this to stress<em>.</em> As a child, he'd once spent hours researching the topic before pronouncing to her that the idea was ridiculous. If he'd eaten a caterpillar then stomach acids would kill it before it could pupate, and there was no free oxygen in his stomach, so it couldn't fly about. She'd just looked at him, rolled her eyes and said it was <em>a figure of speech</em>. Little did Violet Holmes know how apt he now, as an adult, would consider that description of the physical manifestations of anxiety.</p><p>He remembers throwing up out of anxiety in the mornings when he'd still had to go to the village school and face his bullies. Eventually, Sherlock was pulled out to be homeschooled because neither the other children nor the teachers knew how to deal with him, but the experience had been long and scarring enough to convince him dealing with other people was never going to be a part of his skillset. He's still extraordinarily prone to suspect that, when all the others in a group focus on him, it means he's done something wrong and while it is obvious to the others what that is, he fumbles around in the dark for his mistake.</p><p>Right now, all eyes <em>are</em> on him, and a question has been asked by Alan Davidson, the GOSH HR Director, about whether the hiring schedule Sherlock has presented is realistic. "We can't possibly interview all the applicants in just one week."</p><p>"That is accurate, which is why I have already met up with the three most promising candidates for each of the four key research positions."</p><p>"Care to explain why you'd go solo and conduct these 'shadow interviews' of applicants without the other decision-makers in attendance?" Davidson asks in an unkind tone.</p><p>Sherlock's first impulse is to tell the truth: that he doubts those other people in charge know what they should be looking for, but perhaps it's the kind of statement John would tell him is insulting, so he decides to say something else. "I didn't want us wasting our time at such a key stage in the proceedings on interviewing candidates on which I would use my veto right to reject. I also wanted to speak to some who had not applied officially but who I think could be a good fit."</p><p>Edgar had helped him formulate emails to five individuals he considers promising, up-and-comer researchers. He'd met with two and was more pleased with them than with most of the actual applicants. One of them is both a physician and a trained engineer.</p><p>"This isn't in line with protocols that respect diversity and equality, and an open application process," Charlotte Carr, the newly elected Head of Neurosurgery at GOSH points out. Sherlock knows her by reputation: a combination of an enthusiastic paper-pusher and mediocre surgeon, she has implemented some changes which might please the Trust administration but have left her very unpopular among the other neurosurgeons at the hospital.</p><p>Sherlock defends his approach by saying that advertising only attracts applicants who are already looking around when some of the best and most suitable team members are not likely to think of applying because they are not unhappy where they are. Sometimes it needs a leader to take the initiative to <em>find</em> the right person and invite them to apply. If they hadn't done so with him, then the project would not have reached this point.</p><p>He is relieved that his argument seems to shrivel the spluttering about a lack of openness, and they can get on with the other points on the agenda.</p><p><br/>
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</p><p>"How did it go?"</p><p>The question is mumbled around a mouthful of Chinese takeaway. John had insisted on it over one of Edgar's wholesome, healthy options in the fridge which, thanks to the same, is now kept meticulously stocked.</p><p>John had ordered in because he said Sherlock deserved a treat. As for what, Sherlock isn't sure at all. Surviving a meeting? Violet had never rewarded him for just managing. Even when he excelled, it was simply fulfilling her expectations. 'Well done' and other such expressions were a rarity.</p><p>Then again, he needs to be the one to decide when he's done well. Not Violet, not John, not anyone else — not even the bigshots at GOSH. Getting the new unit up and running is not a goal; it's a prerequisite to getting to the real work. Once they have a new shunt, Sherlock might give himself a proverbial pat on the back. He had told this to John a few days back, and John had argued that Sherlock's expectations tend to be so unrealistically high that he's bound to fail them and be frustrated — that, even if he reaches a goal he's set for himself, he'll just shrug and say he should have done it faster or even better.</p><p>"Did you hear what I said?" John asks.</p><p>"I don't know." Sherlock pokes at a piece of Kung Pao chicken with a chopstick. He is in no mood for celebrating. "I won't know until Monday. We managed to narrow down a list of candidates to interview, but I have a suspicion I might have to fight the board on some of these choices, especially if they're people who I have recruited instead of them coming through the official process." </p><p>He has the whole weekend to fret and worry about it, and the prospect is putting a total damper on his enthusiasm for food, company... anything, if he's honest.  His instinct is to climb under a duvet and stay there for the duration until someone tells him it is safe to come out. He doesn't even have research or the planning of upcoming surgeries in which to bury his brain; he's booked three days of holiday from King's for next week, but he suspects those days will just be spent at GOSH.</p><p>"Well, surely their reaction tells you something?" John suggests.</p><p>"Since when have I been any good at judging people's reactions?"</p><p>John puts his chopsticks down and takes a swig of Tsing Tao beer. "Tell me what happened. You've not said a word about the board meeting, so out with it, now," he prompts gently.</p><p>"It was like my medical school interview, only ten times worse."</p><p>"Ouch." John winces. "Really? That bad?"</p><p>"I gave the scripted presentation." Sherlock hears the flat monotone in his voice but can't be bothered to put any effort into changing it to something more socially acceptable. "A number of questions were asked, some pertinent, others impertinent. A few of the faces around the table seemed friendly — in my limited grasp of such things — others did not. They thanked me for the presentation and told me that they would get back to me once they have had a chance to read the detailed proposal. There was some questioning of my handling of the recruitment process." He shrugs. "I wish they would have let Edgar sit in the back. He'd be able to tell me more about what they were thinking."</p><p>John looks away, back at the cardboard cartons on the kitchen table.  "Become a tad dependent on Edgar, have you? What happened to that wanting to do this on your own?"</p><p>The question flares up, sparking a burning annoyance in Sherlock. He snaps, "What would you say to a surgeon who walked into your OR and said that he or she wanted to operate <em>on their own</em> without you?  You'd say that it's best to leave anaesthesia to the people who are trained in it. The same applies to Edgar. This is what he is good at—understanding the subtext underlying the words that people use, reading body language, deducing from what is <em>not </em>being said what's going on. I'm not being dependent — I'm being realistic and getting professional help. I'm outsourcing those aspects of this project which are not within the realm of my expertise."</p><p>John lifts his hands in mock surrender. "Okay, no offence meant. What happens if they say <em>no</em> to something that's important to you?"</p><p>Sherlock sighs and puts his chopsticks down. "It depends on <em>why</em> they say no. If it's because of something that can be easily fixed — say, the budget is too big, or the timetable isn't ambitious enough with clear deliverables — then I go back and amend my plan, if possible. If it isn't, then the whole thing collapses, and no one can move forward on it. And I get accused of wasting everyone's time and money for the past four months. If they say no not because of the facts, but because of <em>me––</em>"</p><p>John rests his chopsticks on the edge of his plate. "Sherlock. They <em>hand-picked</em> you. Turning on you now would be pissing in their own cereal."</p><p>"Not even I can guarantee that it <em>can</em> be done within the parameters I have proposed. Not because they are unrealistic, but because the recruitment can easily be a failure and the whole house of cards come down because of such human factors. Factors I can't entirely control. Factors which depend on the compatibility of employee work methods and personalities."</p><p>John seems unperturbed by the prospect, almost philosophical. "This project failed once before in the US; it's not going to be a disaster if it isn't right this time and needs revision."</p><p>That nonchalance grates on Sherlock's nerves. "I'm not sure they understand that the US team failed mostly because this is a very difficult task and not just because their leadership failed. Edgar said something along those lines — that because they've failed once, they feel an extra urgency to get things to run smoothly this time. I have no intention of this turning into an endless exercise of the re-re-resubmission of a revised proposal, with twenty-nine version-controlled texts just because someone likes to watch me jump through lots of hoops before they say no. Life is too short for that."</p><p>John has finished his plate and leans back in his chair. "Playing devil's advocate here for a minute: let's say you do get the thumbs up on Monday. What, then? This is the first breakpoint in the contract. Are you planning on continuing?"  </p><p>Sherlock is genuinely surprised by the question. "Of course! I haven't lived through all this admin hell just to bolt when the <em>real</em> starting line is finally coming into view."</p><p>Now it is John's turn to sigh. "Is this only a foretaste of what is to come?"</p><p>"What's that supposed to mean?"</p><p>"You, getting wound up tighter than a drum. It's not going to stop now. If the project goes ahead..."</p><p>Sherlock glares daggers at him.</p><p>"<em>When</em> the project goes ahead," John amends, "there will still be regular reports, board meetings, hassles with meeting people's expectations. It's not going to be you and a whiteboard designing your way to a solution. There will be a team to manage, people to please; I'm just saying, you could activate the parachute now. Once it's approved, you get the chance to step away with your reputation enhanced. Just… just keep in mind that you shouldn't do this at <em>any</em> cost to you."</p><p>Sherlock has no idea how to answer this. The silence grows. In frustration, he finally says, "You keep telling me things I know perfectly well, but it doesn't work that way. At least not with me. This is my project. I've built the proposal in such a way that it should be the once-in-a-lifetime chance for me to do this thing the way I want to do it. If I back out now, then I might as well confess that I am not up to it and never will be." </p><p>Shocked that John would ever think he could walk away now, Sherlock has to ask the obvious question: "Is that what you really mean? You think I should walk away now because I am likely to fail?"</p><p>John leans across the table and takes Sherlock's face between his two hands. "No, love. I think you are going to succeed as long as you don't go overboard with the stress and the workload. Every time you operate on someone, there's a chance of failure, but nobody would ever tell you to stop doing surgery because of that. When there <em>is</em> a high likelihood of failure, you need the best person at the helm. I have complete faith in you. I just want the price of that success to be something that won't cost you too much. Tell me what I can do to help."  He rises a bit in his chair and leans over the table for a kiss.</p><p>Once John descends back to his chair, Sherlock draws a grateful breath. "Maybe… distract me this weekend?" Is it his fault if his eyes glance away from the kitchen down the hall to their bedroom? Perhaps not.</p><p>Judging by the smirk, John takes the hint before his expression sobers. "I talked to Laura. Well, showed my damned knee to her."</p><p>It has been causing John grief intermittently; when he runs more than a few miles, the next two days are spent limping and taking anti-inflammatories.</p><p>"And?" Sherlock asks.</p><p>"Charity run's definitely off. There's going to be physio, and she wants me in for an arthroscopy if it doesn't get better."</p><p><br/>
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</p><p><br/>
Three months later, Sherlock is giving himself a final once-over in the wardrobe mirror.</p><p><em>To greenlight something —</em> w<em>hat a strange expression</em>, he thinks as he begins inserting links into his cuffs. Greenlight was word used three months prior by both John Stavenger from Steadman's at a board meeting and Gerald Simmons of the Dahl Foundation in an email. '<em>Permission to proceed</em>' was the more precise wording on the letter from the Board of the GOSH.  Thanks to Sherlock's controversial but time-saving pre-application interviews, the team had been recruited in record time. The office that has been a hypothetical space on a blue-print for months is now occupied and humming with activity. Because of the pressure of this being round two of trying to assemble a functioning shunt research team, expedited construction costs had been approved by the Trust board and the Dahl Foundation.</p><p>It is a good feeling to be finally getting down to the work that Sherlock has been planning for so long. The only way he had been able to persevere through all the preparatory work is that it had been leading to this moment of freedom in the design room. During the past month, the newly minted design team has been moving quickly, radically challenging many of the traditional ways shunts function and the conventions of designing one. </p><p>Sherlock wouldn't hesitate to say that the past month has been intellectually the most rewarding of his career. The hardest part, as John keeps reminding him, is that he is only supposed to be devoting two days a week to it while the others are at it full time. During the phases of surgery which are so routine that he could manage with his eyes closed, he often finds his mind idling towards the latest ideas and developments in their project.</p><p>When John had returned yesterday from a physio session one Saturday afternoon, he'd caught Sherlock using the wall behind the sofa at 221b as a mind-map investigating the design of a microchip sensor capable of long-term in situ operation able to transmit data without generating heat that would affect neuronal conductivity in its vicinity. He's been learning a lot about the electrochemistry of the human brain.</p><p>"Oi, you were supposed to be relaxing," John had protested while kicking off his shoes. "I left you working off some of those stage fright nerves of yours by playing the violin. You promised… <em>two days a week</em> doesn't mean weekends don't count."</p><p>"My brain doesn't work that way. I can't turn it off," Sherlock had complained.</p><p>"Then you are going to have to learn how. Or at least be able to juggle both without it exhausting you."</p><p>The stage fright relates to the speech he is slated to make at tonight's gala event, celebrating the launch of the unit and the overlapping centre of excellence.</p><p>Earlier this morning, while Sherlock was at King's operating on a twenty-four-year-old with a meningioma through an orbitozygomatic craniotomy, HRH Princess Anne had officially opened the unit. He doesn't mind having missed such pointless pomp and circumstance — the whole thing was for the press. Tonight is much more important: each of the unit's department heads will have a ten-minute slot to explain their <em>mission and vision</em>, whatever that means. </p><p>Sherlock completes the Windsor knot on his blue tie. The particular tie had been selected by Edgar, who said that it would complement his eye colour. He's suddenly curious how and when green was established as the colour of encouragement and growth, while it also remained the symbol of jealousy and bitterness. Perhaps it's fitting since one person's success can be a cause of envy for others. Still, the colour to signal pedestrians that it's safe to cross a road or a car to cross a junction could just as well have been blue. After all, blue is thought to be safe, formal, serene. If he had time, he'd google the history involved.</p><p>In all the hospitals he has worked in, scrubs and drapes have been either blue or green, and he had selected a shade known as Carolina Blue to be the official colour of the Dahl Centre of Excellence for Complex Hydrocephaly. A clean, horizontal line of that colour, Pantone 542C, carrying the title, would be printed on pens, pads, signs. The graphic designer and the architect Sherlock had spoken with had been enthusiastic about the connection between water and blue, and he hadn't let go of the subject no matter how thoroughly Sherlock tried to explain how the colour and consistency of cerebrospinal fluid had little to do with the way the ocean looked blue as it reflected the colour of the sky; its physical and chemical properties are very different from saltwater.</p><p>Still, picking a colour had been one of the easy parts of the planning. The budget was the worst. Even just the NHS terminology involved had nearly driven Sherlock to scream. John had been an imperative source of help since he's learned a lot of it during his years as a Clinical Director of Operative Services. At one point, Sherlock had plucked up the courage to ask Lestrade for advice on some details regarding putting out tenders for equipment. He would have expected the senior surgeon to be annoyed at being reminded of Sherlock's new project, but if anything, he'd seemed quite flattered by the consultation. Edgar had actually predicted this, advising Sherlock that asking for advice <em>'may reinforce nicely the idea that he is your superior, which is something your GOSH job and the way you were recruited to it may undermine in his head</em>'.</p><p>His mobile pings with a message; Edgar is downstairs. Sherlock hopes Edgar will curb his chatty tongue during the drive; he wants to use the excuse of his thirst for knowledge regarding the emotional associations to colours to avoid talking to their driver and to distract himself with his phone from the fact that he is headed to a social occasion.</p><p>Still, he feels ready for tonight. Only one detail had gone to the dogs: John hadn't marked down his day surgical appointment for his knee arthroscopy on their joint calendar. He claimed to have told it to Sherlock and reminded him at least once, but he certainly hadn't done it in Edgar's presence since not even the assistant had been aware of it. So, two days prior, they had realised that John wouldn't be able to accompany Sherlock to this celebration dinner of the new unit at The Connaught Hotel's Mayfair Room, a lavish space accommodating a hundred and twenty patrons for a sit-down meal.</p><p>Sherlock adjusts his cuffs, makes sure his wristwatch is the right way around, then types up a quick message to John saying he's heading out and to contact Edgar if there is an emergency; he needs to have his phone on silent.</p><p>John's surgery is already done; he had texted Sherlock before and after the procedure which had been done under a spinal block. A nerve block meant that he had watched the whole thing on the same arthroscope screen as Laura. Sherlock had called him after his second text and John had given him a recap, saying that he'd felt fine apart from the moment when Laura Arthur had taken a shaver to smooth out the scraggy part of his medial meniscus where a bit had torn itself off. The sight had made him a bit queasy though he had handled the anaesthesia for plenty of similar cases. "I knew it's different when it's me on the table," John had said on the phone, "but I thought that since it would be a lot less dramatic than my shoulder…"</p><p>The loose bit had been the cause of John's coming-and-going knee pain and locking symptoms when running, and once it was removed, recovery should be swift. At least that's what Laura had said. Sherlock had naturally attended both of John's preoperative outpatient appointments — after all, he is the surgeon in the family. He had only realised after the whole thing was over and John assured him that he was safely deposited in the recovery area that Sherlock realised how nervous he'd been about John going under the knife. He knows what can happen even with low-risk surgery such as this and couldn't help thinking about the last time John had needed surgery.</p><p>The timing of the gala dinner means that there is no one to take John home; getting discharged as an ambulatory case would have required an adult companion. The day surgical unit closes at six, and it's gone half seven now, so the decision to move John to the bedward was unavoidable for Laura. Sherlock had suggested hiring an agency nurse so that John could come home the same day, but his husband had insisted that he'd be fine staying overnight at the ortho ward at King's. Laura Arthur will be on call the next day and will discharge him first thing in the morning. Sherlock is not entirely happy for the arrangement, but John has assured him repeatedly that he was to focus on his important night and that he'd be in good hands at the hospital.</p><p>Sherlock had been nervous enough about his husband's surgery going well that he’d forgot to try on the suit he had wanted to wear at the dinner well in advance. At noon, after returning home from GOSH to prepare, it turned out that he'd dropped a few pounds since the last time he'd worn it and it didn't flatter him the way he was used to demanding from his attire.</p><p>That's when Edgar had truly proven his worth. Not that the young man hadn't done so many times before, but today he has managed to get the sartorial problem fixed in just a few hours by a professional. None of the tailors Sherlock had called could fit him in; there are plenty of functions happening today in the city, and everyone is busy. It began to look as though he'd have to wear something else but shifting his thinking like that is outstandingly difficult when he is already residually nervous about John and pre-emptively nervous about how he'd manage with all the people tonight just led to his concentration shattering and his organisational abilities making themselves rather scarce. He knows that the work for the launch is now done, but the responsibility still rests on his shoulders. Wearing the wrong thing would have made him self-aware and uncomfortable. Thankfully, an hour after informing Edgar of the problem, the doorbell rang, and none other than the second-in-command to his usual tailor was at the door. He did the minor alterations on the fly, sitting by their flat's kitchen table.</p><p>"I owed Kingsley a favour," Oscar Donne simply explained when Sherlock inquired about their connection. "But for the fee he promised me, the two of you can call me anytime," he added with a grin.</p><p>Sherlock accepted the man's business card with delight. Once in his suit, he informed Edgar through Slack — which he still sometimes struggled to remember to use but agreed on its usefulness — that if he wanted a permanent position, it was his. He had formally hired the PA earlier, but they'd only discussed a contract of one year. Now, Sherlock has seen enough to know that his work should benefit their life far beyond the Dahl Centre launch. Even John's impulse to guard his territory seems to have settled.</p><p>They are leaving with plenty of time to spare. '<em>Best factor in thirty minutes for the drive at this time of the day and week, ten minutes for wardrobe queues, ten minutes for a refresh and regroup break at the gents' and ten minutes for unexpected hitches</em>' is how Edgar had reasoned his schedule proposal.</p><p>Sherlock goes downstairs and walks straight into the Bentley waiting at the kerb.</p><p>Edgar is in the backseat and greets him with a polite nod and a beaming smile. "You look stunning, Doctor Holmes."</p><p>"It's Sherlock, please, even when I manage to impress you." This is not the first time he'd reminded Edgar that he did not wish to be addressed as 'sir', 'Mister Holmes' or 'Doctor Holmes'. Sometimes it just slips out of the younger man, making Sherlock wonder how much formality his prior employers had required.</p><p>"Of course," Edgar promises. "I simply thought it best to mark the official occasion with such a designation."</p><p>"My brother would adore you," Sherlock quips with a grin, "you can call him 'sir' all you want, and he'll eat out of your hand. Possibly literally, assuming you are holding something with chocolate fondant on top."</p><p>"Is that something that ought to be served when he visits?"</p><p>"Anything with a high enough sugar content."</p><p>"So, what is the vibe for the evening? Are we excited, tired, stressed?"</p><p>"Too keyed up to be tired at this point."</p><p>"Which is why it's good that your calendar is empty for the rest of the weekend. At John's prompting, I have made a reservation at Rasoi for Sunday evening and arranged transport, since he'll not want to walk much with his knee."</p><p>Rasoi is a Michelin-starred Indian restaurant they have meant to try, but the waiting list is long. Edgar must have some connection there to have landed them a table on a Saturday evening. For a moment, Sherlock wonders if John will be up to it. He won't have his leg in a cast, so perhaps he will manage. <em>They</em> will manage. As part of his deluge of questions for both of them at the start of their business relationship, Edgar had inquired whether he should only execute requests or also suggest improvements. John had seemed a bit reluctant regarding the latter, but Sherlock had readily agreed. Clearly, Edgar is capable of some out-of-the-box thinking regarding their daily routines and clearing their calendars for some alone time.</p><p>"How is John doing?" Edgar inquires politely.</p><p>"It was as the orthopaedist suspected; a loose bit from his cartilage kept wedging itself in when he was running. It should all be sorted now, though it'll be a while before he can pound more pavement. I doubt his heart was in it to start with; he just got rather bloody-minded about some charity thing."</p><p>"Well, that's a relief;" Edgar suggests, "Glad that it wasn't anything more serious, I mean."</p><p>"Yes, quite."</p><p>"It would have been nice to have him here tonight?" Edgar then suggests.</p><p>The obviousness of the statement should be grating, but it's odd how someone giving words to things in Sherlock's head feels… reassuring, instead. It's a nice change that someone pays attention to his mental state instead of brushing it off as had been the habit of his parents. "John has accompanied me to many such functions. I should just follow the example he's given in navigating them."</p><p>While not precisely a social butterfly, John gets along with people and people like him; he adapts easily to interacting with different social classes and professions, employs humour and sarcasm successfully and is a sufficiently spontaneous drinking buddy to put others at ease.</p><p>Sherlock is none of these things.</p><p>He can remove a brain tumour, learn a foreign language quickly and design a ventriculoperitoneal shunt, but try as he might to summon his fledgeling confidence constructed with John and Dr Pichler, the notion of a ballroom full of people still makes him feel as though he's been flung back to elementary school. He takes a deep breath and tries to swallow his anxiety while staring out the Bentley's window as they come ever closer to his moment of truth. For once, he would have hoped for a longer drive.</p><p>As they slow down to a red light, he leans forward and knocks on the plexiglass separating them from the driver. The intercom crackles to life, and before the driver has a chance to inquire what he's got on his mind, Sherlock instructs him to stop at the next possible place that might sell cigarettes.</p><p>Edgar clears his throat. "There is an alternative."</p><p>Sherlock scoffs, his fingertips practically tingling already with the expectation of the first calming puff of nicotine diffusing from his lung sacks into his bloodstream. "Such as?"</p><p>Edgar sticks a hand into the leather briefcase he has brought instead of his usual messenger bag and produces a packet of nicotine patches. "I believe it was John's last communique before he was taken into theatre this morning to instruct me to acquire these. He mentioned you might be… tempted, and that these would have a less up-and-down effect on your mood. Shall we say… two?"</p><p>The intercom crackles. "So, sir, there's a Sainsbury's coming up; do you still want me to--"</p><p>"No," Sherlock replies. He wouldn't put it past John to somehow get Edgar to promise he'd rat him out if he refused the patches and bought cigarettes instead. <em>I didn't hire him so he could start ganging up on me with John! </em> Still, Sherlock's annoyance is mitigated by the fact that what Edgar is offering is a source of nicotine that won't require him to deal with the horrors of a grocery store with his already taxed nerves. Plus, John won't nag if he takes the patch since it was his idea.</p><p>Sherlock snatches the packet from Edgar and digs out what he needs. At his PA's rising brows, he responds, "Trust me: this evening will certainly be a three-patch problem."<br/>
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<a name="section0013"><h2>13. A Bitter Celebration</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>For some obscure reason he can't fathom, Sherlock's speech is the last of the department heads, so when he sits down after his allotted ten minutes, the only item remaining is Lady Wolfson's duty to end the formal proceedings and re-join them at the head table.  While she makes her way from the stage back to their table, Sherlock wonders why he is the only one of the four department heads of the new unit to have been placed at this particular table; the other Steadman Neurosurgery Unit heads all have their own tables, with their own people and key donors relevant to their area of specialisations. This arrangement means that Edgar is not sitting with him, and that makes Sherlock uneasy. The man can hardly advise him on anything while others are present so close by, but perhaps… Sherlock realises he's used to John being present at these occasions. John, who takes over participating in the conversations when Sherlock commits a faux pas and realises it too late. John, who kicks him under the table if he senses Sherlock is about to say something particularly callous. John, who sometimes takes his hand under the table to signal that he's drifting off into his head when he gets bored of the company.</p><p>He tries to imagine how Edgar or John would interpret this seating. Could it be that he has been invited here, to the most prestigious table, because his team is the newest, most recently established one? Or perhaps his is simply the smallest and therefore not deemed worthy of its own table?  His thoughts take a darker turn; could it be that they have placed him close to Stella because they don't trust him to manage the social aspects of keeping the Dahl Foundation representative happy?</p><p>Patricia Dahl, a thirty-eight-year-old great grand-daughter of Roald Dahl, is currently being chatted up by the American doctor who had been the leader of the team that had failed to get the new smart shunt design project off the ground. With his peripheral vision, Sherlock can see the man ogling Miss Dahl's breasts. He can't help but overhear their discussion because the middle-aged doctor's voice is nasal and pitched at a loudspeaker volume that Americans seem to have hard-wired into their system. The man is one of those pontificators that Sherlock has come to detest — full of himself, utterly convinced that the project should have stayed on "our side of the Atlantic instead of mired in the mess of the NHS". Nothing in the man's blatant boasting is acknowledging the fact that the project has been relocated because his leadership had failed to get it off the ground. Sherlock has no idea why the Steadman European head Dirk van Hoek had invited the man, Charles Macdonald to this event. If Sherlock had been in his position, he would have stayed at home, embarrassed of his failure.</p><p>Macdonald is a grey-haired man in an ill-fitting hired dinner jacket that can't conceal his paunch. He spends ten minutes waxing dramatic about the future of hydrocephaly research as if he is the world authority on the subject. Sherlock knows his work, based on research done a decade ago. He'd subjected the man's original proposal to forensic scrutiny; it had helped him know for sure what <em>not</em> to do in his own. Surely, Macdonald's failure means that the Steadman company should have severed ties with him?</p><p>While he is considering this, Patricia turns to Sherlock and asks, "Have you two considered the idea of working together across the Atlantic? I mean, wouldn't the American health system have more potential collaborators? It is just so much bigger than the UK."</p><p>"Bigger isn't better," Sherlock blurts out. "He's had his chance and blew it."</p><p>"Well, <em>excuse me</em>, Mister Holmes, but I can't let this little lady here get the wrong impression. Our original proposal was for a much bigger project than your little side-show. America is the place for cutting edge medical innovation. A bit more agility as opposed to the lumbering research dinosaurs in Europe. A new smart shunt needs to be built in a place that has more <em>smarts</em>."</p><p>The nasal twang dissolves into a loud laugh as Macdonald finds bloated amusement at his own play on words. The loudness of it draws the attention of the table's other occupants and Sherlock feels their eyes turning onto him, clearly expecting his next move.</p><p>Perhaps scenting blood, the American continues, "I get it that the young upstart wants to have a go, and what the hell, there's a piece of me that says good luck. But wiser heads have been at this for years, and we know that your inexperience at running a proper full-sized team will mean that in a few months, you'll be waving for help and Steadman will have to come back to America for more reinforcements. I hope you have the humility to accept good advice from people who've done this before. I might be inclined to offer some."</p><p>The man's ego is just insufferable, and Sherlock ripostes, "No, I don't think so. My team and I have eviscerated your original proposal; it's the exact blueprint of how <em>not</em> to accomplish a leap forward. Your proposal was all about filing patents and maximising the revenue returns rather than freeing up your ossified thinking and looking at new ways of doing things. Since we are at the topic of geographical stereotypes, your work very nicely reinforced the one that Americans tend to approach this wallet-first."</p><p>Macdonald's eyes narrow, making him look even more porcine. "Watch it, sonny boy. Being rude to your elders and betters can cost you in the long run. But, then maybe this just proves the point of what people have been saying about you — that you are missing some of the ingredients needed to play this game at the level needed."</p><p>There… Sherlock's been waiting for it and now he knows; the <em>cretin's</em> insinuation is clear. Macdonald is saying that he will never succeed because his neuroatypicality is a handicap that makes him unfit and incapable. <em>Who has he been talking to?</em></p><p>This might just confirm the suspicion John had raised — that people in research and clinical circles love gossip, and that they may well have been speculating about Sherlock's… peculiarity behind his back.</p><p>Through clenched teeth, he asks, "what <em>ingredients</em> would that be?"</p><p>"Social savvy. The nous to know when to shut up and take advice from those who've been here for a lot longer than you have. Every team needs a coach, a leader, someone with experience and the skills to get the best out of their team. Rumours say you're a little short of those ingredients, just… <em>born that way.</em>" Macdonald leans back in his chair, a self-satisfied smile taking hold of his features.</p><p>The smug expression is like a red rag to a bull. Sherlock takes a deep breath and unleashes; "Unlike you, Mister Macdonald, I am not in <em>this game</em>, as you call it, for the bragging rights and a holiday home in Malibu. Your failed proposal was designed to compensate for the fact that your research career died a decade ago. You were basing your hopes on cheap labour from PhD students whose work would remain anonymous and allow you to take the credit.  Your budget included an inflated salary for yourself because your own clinical work has dried up. Your surgical career ended sometime after your drinking became a problem. The professorial position at Johns Hopkins was a boardroom manoeuvre designed to get you out of the operating theatre before the malpractice suits cost the hospital too much."</p><p>Macdonald is gaping at him, and Sherlock makes use of the man's stunned silence and ploughs on. All eyes around the table are on him, which nearly makes him stutter to a halt, but he didn't start this. Macdonald delivered a blow-under-the-belt deeply unbecoming of a colleague, and Sherlock is past letting people walk over him.</p><p><em>They chose me, headhunted me for this, and I'm done thinking it's despite all the I am</em>.</p><p>He straightens his back and stares Macdonald down. "The alcoholic's tremor is evident, as is the fact that you've consumed six glasses of wine, including an extra helping of champagne you downed, likely behind a potted plant judging by the residue of potting soil on your ill-fitting trousers, and even after all that you are showing little evidence of drunkenness, save for a bloated ego which I suspect is the reason you recently stopped wearing your wedding ring. Alcohol loosens your inhibitions, as your leering down Miss Dahl's cleavage confirms."</p><p>Macdonald rises to his feet, the forefinger pointed at Sherlock shaking with rage. "You <em>little fucker</em>. Everyone knows Europeans are much more culturally inbred than us so no wonder they'd rather make a project fail than to let an American helm it. They probably chose you because you'll look pretty in the promo pictures."</p><p>When Sherlock had heard who had led the failed project, the name had rang a bell in terms of rumours buzzing around conference circles for years. Edgar had advised him not to mention this to anyone, but he can't just let Macdonald get the last word, can he? "Oh, I suppose if you want to throw around rumours, what about those suggesting you are abusing your authority to extort sexual favours from your women subordinates? No wonder your wife left you and you are––"</p><p>"Sherlock…"  Lady Wolfson interjects. "That's enough… quite enough. From <em>both</em> of you."</p><p>Macdonald leans forward, downs the rest of his glass of red wine, and marches out of the ballroom. This leaves only one object of attention for the spectators to the argument — Sherlock. Even patrons at surrounding tables have now noticed something is going on. The conversational buzz that had been heard around the head table has disappeared into shocked silence.</p><p>Gazing around, Sherlock can suddenly sense that invisible wall forming between him and the others. The general pleasantry of such events has coiled away like a morning mist dissipating under bright sunlight, leaving him on the opposite side of a deep river that's been there since he was born. Sometimes he swims hard enough against the punishing stream of social interaction and reaches that opposite shore. Most often, he is eventually swept away by it, and the others are left staring at him as he moves downstream, carried off by his own strangeness and aimless intellect.</p><p>This is one of those moments.</p><p>John Stavenage is glaring at him.  The look on Rob de Hoek's face reminds Sherlock of his mother or Mycroft in one of their disapproval modes. Sherlock rarely knows what it is he does or says wrong, but he does recognise the glazed, suspended, apprehensive, oppressive silence those things have summoned. In a mental image, John is shaking his head with a long-suffering look.</p><p>He knows he has to do something but has absolutely no idea how to make this go away.  Even Lady Wolfson is looking shocked when Sherlock gives her a pleading look. In the past, John has been the life raft, the one who steers him back across the water to the others. He knows that if he tries on his own, he's going to go even deeper over his head. He has never, ever managed to defuse a scenario such as this — he's only made things worse by speaking more.</p><p>Now, there's just the rope Edgar can throw him. The young man has stood up in his small corner table, eyes fixed on Sherlock with the determined, expectant focus of a greyhound expecting the racing gates to open.</p><p>Throw a rope he does. All Sherlock needs to do is touch his earlobe — twice, as is their agreed signal — and the assistant hurries in to inform him of a completely fictional phone call he simply <em>must</em> attend to immediately.</p><p>"I'm sorry," Sherlock says to the people at the table, some of who have begun to whisper among themselves. "I turned my phone off, but because my partner is in hospital just recovering from surgery, so I asked my assistant to contact me if something came up. Please excuse me."</p><p>The white lie — no, actually, the <em>need</em> to lie — upsets him, but he is determined to avoid drowning, and if a fabrication can keep his social ineptitude from making things even worse, so be it.</p><p>He trails behind Edgar to a bar up the main staircase, from where they can survey the crowd below without anyone seeing them. They are the only patrons there at the moment since most attendees are still dining at their tables.</p><p>Sherlock sighs. He orders a whisky; probably won't drink it, but it'll add verisimilitude once people get past coffee and starts pouring into this area. He doesn't know how long they should stay up here — possibly for the rest of the evening? Could they even <em>leave</em>?</p><p>Edgar is still carrying around what seems to be the same glass of champagne he's been nursing all evening. At least the slight crack at the bottom of the glass looks the same.</p><p>"You're allowed to drink that. Unless it's some arbitrary rule of work ethic you insist upon," Sherlock comments and swirls the amber liquid in his tumbler. "For the record: this is just a prop. I don't drink."</p><p>"At all?"</p><p>"Not unless I really need it."</p><p>On a whim, Sherlock downs the contents of the glass and orders another.</p><p>Edgar is reaching into his coat pocket for what must be his notebook; Sherlock stops him with a stern gaze. "Do you need to write <em>everything</em> down? Surely your clients don't appreciate having all their darkest secrets being carried around by you in a Moleskin in your jacket pocket. No, I generally don't drink, except when it is to accompany John."</p><p>His tone is bitter. He finds Edgar's presence slightly annoying on principle tonight. His need for such a person in his life in annoying, especially since he has just received a very stinging reminder of that need. Most of all, he is annoyed with <em>himself</em> right now. He knows from experience that this residual disappointment from having failed at social interaction will pass, but If John was here it would pass quicker.</p><p>"I transfer my notes to my Blackberry every few days. They are quite safe," Edgar assures him, and sips from his glass. "If you permit me to celebrate, I will."</p><p>"I'm not celebrating. Being here is an obligation, not recreation. I would not voluntarily attend such a function. John would. Not me."</p><p>"Not everyone enjoys large crowds. Or formal events."</p><p>"Not everyone is <em>equipped</em> to enjoy them," Sherlock snaps in a tone he realises too late is accusatory. He regrets the outburst; Edgar is working tonight at his behest, and it's none of Sherlock's business what the young man does or doesn't enjoy. "Thank you for the… non-existing phone call. You were attentive. That is appreciated."</p><p>"Standard trick of the trade," Edgar says and emphasises his point with an elegant flick outward of his fingers from his palm to signal a magic trick.</p><p>"What would be the first moment during such an event as this when one might leave? In a socially acceptable manner?"</p><p>"I'd expect some spontaneous speeches during pudding, but I surmise we have already heard all the official business. Mingling is generally expected between coffee and the band starting. I would estimate that after two sets of dances a person would no longer be thought of as leaving early. Do you dance?"</p><p>"Yes, though I prefer not to do so with strangers — especially older women with deplorable personal hygiene."</p><p>Their festive clothes are often doused with heavy, oriental perfumes, and there is something particularly off-putting about the combination of expensive body lotion and intra-menopausal sweat. As soon as this thought pops into his head, he is grateful that he hadn't voiced it. Yet again he would have been chastised for being socially gauche if he was in the company of anyone but Edgar who is duty-bound not to voice his distaste. It used to be he was so oblivious to social conventions that he felt no anxiety when voicing what he was thinking; now he knows when he is coming across badly, and so is even more anxious. He can't win.</p><p>Sherlock plucks up the courage to observe Edgar's expression, and he seems to have accepted Sherlock's explanation without any judgement. Then again, Sherlock knows he's dreadful at reading such things.</p><p>"Then I recommend we frequent this bar until the suitable moment," Edgar says, "you have a perfect excuse to leave in John's surgery. Being a considerate spouse is a kind of get-out clause, if you need it. Unless you feel it necessary to mingle some more?"</p><p>"They've all seen me now, on the podium. And possibly heard too much of me. Best leave before I do any more damage."</p><p>Yet, he doesn't rise from his chair. Feeling a burst of spontaneity brought on by his sudden bitterness, Sherlock downs the whisky, then lifts up the glass from the bottom to inspect the patterns cut into the crystal. He orders yet another.</p><p>"How long have you been together?" Edgar enquires. He has emptied his champagne glass rather quickly now that he is allowed, and a rosy tint is blushing his cheeks.</p><p>Sherlock wonders how old Edgar will have to be before he stops looking like he might still be underage. It would be taxing to be belittled because of youthful looks. Then again, he would have preferred that handicap at Cambridge to being, well, himself.</p><p>"Eight years. That's eight more than I would ever have expected."</p><p>"Rocky start?" Edgar is smiling.</p><p>"Not really. We got together quite fast in the beginning and admittedly, that may have caused some… friction. I did not realise a longer courtship before moving in together would have perhaps been recommended by etiquette. I liked John. He seemed to like me. I saw no reason to delay."</p><p>Edgar still looks expectant, as though Sherlock hasn't quite provided a reason for his initial comment about never anticipating a long union.</p><p>"I never expected to get married to anyone. I was flattered and surprised by John's attention and interest towards me. I also expected it to fizzle out once he really got to know me. I took the decision to embark in a relationship perhaps too lightly because I was so sceptical regarding its prognosis. It was… if not an experiment, then at least I never expected a marriage to come out of it. To accomplish such a task as a successful relationship is for me as demanding and difficult as any I had ever contemplated, perhaps even worse. I nonetheless have sworn to do my very best to show appreciation towards John for the trust he has placed in me to do right by him as a husband."</p><p>His head is swimming a little, and the time it takes for words to take for is longer than usual. <em>Tipsy</em>. He never gets tipsy unless John is there. It's dangerous because it makes him even more liable to messing up when it comes to interacting with others. He needs his wits about him until he's in a taxi en route home. He needs to leave.</p><p>But instead, he finds himself talking at Edgar. "Once, I thought all emotions and love in particular were best shunned because they stand opposed to the pure reason of medical science in which I found consolation after the only relationship I had attempted before John was a failure. Although… I don't think the fault for that was all mine."</p><p>"I'm sure it wasn't," Edgar offers eagerly and politely. "Sherlock… if I may ask; why is it that you think you are particularly ill-equipped for certain things?"</p><p>Sherlock is taken aback by the question. Edgar <em>knows</em> already about the ASD. Why does he want Sherlock to spell it out?</p><p>He had told the PA agency about his diagnosis because the topic was bound to come up sooner or later. If Edgar Agnew Kingsley, the third of that august name, needs to be privy to all the important aspects of their lives, this skeleton was pounding the closet door right from the start. Now, Edgar sounds as though he can't quite see a connection between having difficulties maintaining relationships and being rather clueless about people. Why? Surely he's not just trying heckle Sherlock?</p><p>He downs the rest of his third drink. It burns so hard that he gives an involuntary shudder. What on Earth had possessed him to order whisky of all things? Had he wanted to hold the steady weight of the tumbler in his hand rather than a delicate, fragile champagne flute, the contents of which he would have preferred? Perhaps the earthy sturdiness of the beverage and the receptacle it is served in reminds him of John.</p><p>He glances at the bartender who is speaking with a burly man in a tuxedo and not paying any attention to the two of them. The band is warming up, drowning out some of the ambient sounds, and soon there will be more people within earshot. If he's to give Edgar an answer, he needs to do so now.</p><p>Sherlock takes a moment to drown out the eardrum torture of the brass instruments being tuned before he can continue. "You know I have ASD. Autism spectrum disorder. You know this." The words and the abbreviation have always felt cold, metallic, distant to him. Not part of his usual vocabulary. They are something to be treated with care, with suspicion. It makes him feel awkward saying this to Edgar, as if he has to explain. "It was made clear to you on the very first day. Being on the Spectrum comes with communication deficits and a lack of social skills that is not wilful, but rather innate. I also have to endure Sensory Processing Disorder, which gets worse when I am anxious. And that makes my behaviour even more of a problem in social situations. It's a vicious circle." He isn't slurring his words yet, but the rhythm of his speech has slowed, become less precise.</p><p>Edgar pushes his empty champagne glass towards the bartender for a re-fill. His expression hasn't changed, which annoys Sherlock. Or, perhaps he is just annoyingly good at being a polite poker-face of a PA. Or, could this signal that he thinks Sherlock looks and acts too <em>well-adjusted</em> for it to be true?</p><p>For all intents and purposes, Edgar looks as though they are discussing the weather, and it annoys Sherlock. Edgar has heard this before, but surely there is <em>some </em>reaction waiting to happen? <em>Just react like people always do, with pity or alarm or confusion. Just get it over with.</em></p><p>Finally, Edgar frowns a bit. "It must have been difficult. Must be difficult. Still. I think I see now, the relationship part."</p><p>Sherlock sighs. "People do tend to assume no one on the Spectrum would be any good at such things. But it is frustratingly true for me; I simply do not understand how other people's minds work. And I don't understand why I have to be the one who is always expected to compromise, to conform to their expectations. It makes me angry and frustrated."  As soon as he's said this, he wonders if Joanna Pichler would be proud of his being able to articulate this. And then he decides that it's more important that <em>he</em> feels proud of it.</p><p>"In a way, it's easy for me to believe the opposite," Edgar says thoughtfully. "In my experience, people who find something particularly difficult but terribly important work harder than anyone else to achieve it. It's just that others don't realise that, which can be discouraging. Their expectations are based on the abilities of the average, neurotypical person, so triumphs which are massive for those not conforming to such expectations can go unnoticed."</p><p>Sherlock thinks about medical school and the way his family had tried to warn him off from even trying, and the way his fellow students and his professors had exuded scepticism for his chances of ever managing patient work. He <em>had</em> worked a lot harder than them, just like he has had to work much harder than John — at least he thinks so — to manage in their relationship.</p><p>Edgar puts his glass down. "Details of my personal life are hardly appropriate topics of conversation in a business relationship centred on the needs of someone else, but perhaps in this particular case I might make an exception."</p><p>Seemingly without caring whether his actions are seen or heard, Edgar reaches into his briefcase and produces a blister packet. "I must keep this with me, in case my duties suddenly involve an overnight stay somewhere." He passes it to Sherlock.</p><p>The tablets are Elvanse — lisdexamphetamine. Sherlock's interest deflates as he deduces that Edgar is trying to put him at ease through countering his secret by revealing one of his own — a drug habit. Perhaps he assumes Sherlock being a doctor will ensure that confidence is kept? It makes sense. Many students and high-powered people abuse stimulants to keep on top of things, and Edgar's boundless energy and bordering-on-manic demeanour are easily explained with this.</p><p>He passes the packet back to the man. The conversation is over. Sherlock is hardly the person to lecture others about the perils of illicit narcotics use, but he can't be seen condoning something like this. It makes him question his offer earlier to make Edgar's position permanent. <em>If John finds out about this, he'll be livid.</em></p><p>Edgar studies his expression, and his face falls a bit. "Before you make the wrong assumption, the legally obtained prescription is in my briefcase as well. If this worries you or John, I will gladly permit you to speak with my psychiatrist."</p><p>This gives Sherlock pause. A different deduction now forms, and it's the only plausible one. <em>Legally prescribed by a psychiatrist.</em> It's obvious, now, and it explains perfectly well the manner in which Edgar, well, <em>exists</em> around others.</p><p>"ADHD," Edgar voices Sherlock's thoughts. He slips the blister packet back into his briefcase. "School was a nightmare until the right medication was found. Later on, I gained some age and perspective and found the most effective techniques of focus adjustment, personal organisation and time management. Those skills were hard to build, but they have served me well. In a way, they <em>gave</em> me my career, along with the fact that I have learned I have considerable skills reading people and anticipating their actions. It's just that those abilities cannot be turned off — it's exhausting to constantly over-analyse everything I and others say and do or don't say and don't do. Thankfully, I can harness those abilities for the use of my employers. My brain would rot in some office job with just a computer to keep me company. Must be on the move, must be with people — doing, doing, doing — that's me; the busy little bee, wondering why others couldn't keep up."</p><p><em>I would never have assumed someone with ADHD could manage as a personal assistant, a profession in which attention to detail and an astronomical</em> <em>level of organisation is required</em>, Sherlock thinks and instantly catches himself for making exactly the same sorts of assumptions that people have always made about him. <em>An autistic surgeon? Preposterous!</em></p><p>"I need things to do," explains Edgar. "I need things to organise, and people to interact with. Long meetings where I don't have the needs of an employer to consider and keep me busy, or slow tasks I have no control over such as group work completely drain my energy because I have to limit my input and moderate my behaviour. I work best when I can interact one-on-one with someone and do smaller tasks the schedules of which I can influence. If I'm not sufficiently occupied by work, my idle mind comes up with things that are no good at all. I am lucky in that Elvanse has worked very well since I was twenty-two; before that, it was Ritalin. Without my meds, things can disintegrate. Without enough stimulation, even with the medication, I sometimes feel like a rocket tearing–––</p><p>"––itself to pieces on the launch pad," Sherlock completes without thinking. That's <em>precisely </em>how he feels when he gets anxious enough and can't vent it, or he gets bored and depressed at the same time. Depression, for him, is a paralysing state only at its worst. In its milder versions, anxiety and restlessness reign.</p><p>"When I get to do what I enjoy, what I do best, I doubt neurotypicals even realise how good it feels," Edgar says. "I like to think that the scale of experience, for me, is larger than for most people. The highs are very high indeed, and the lows––"</p><p>"––are terrifying and nobody understands, really, why it all works the way it does," Sherlock concludes.</p><p>"I do not expect us to be that similar, since our brains vary from the norm in different ways," Edgar says, "but it seems we have certain things in common."</p><p>"Such as broken brains that have betrayed us since birth."</p><p>Edgar looks a bit shocked. "I don't think of it that way. Well, I try not to, but I have bad days, of course, and then I think <em>exactly </em> like that even though it never leads to anything good. On better days, I try to see the silver lining because sure, it's a hell of a challenge, but everyone's got something, don't they? Very few people have an easy life, do they? Having seen the lifestyles of the rich and the famous, they certainly don't. Being <em>normal </em>— I bet you hate the word as much as I do — doesn't make anyone happy, and even normal well-to-do people are often very lonely and under immense pressure. I don't think I'd be where I am without my particular brain. The benefits have outweighed the costs, except when things have been most dire. My mother would probably often have hoped, particularly when I was in my adolescence, that I was one of those tedious normals of course, but the end result matters most, I think."</p><p>"Maybe you like to advertise your diagnosis, but I certainly don't."</p><p>"I have been embarrassed by it — who wouldn't be? People box you in, and it's hardly something one blurts out during the first moments of a date. People have terrible stereotypes about juvenile delinquents and don't understand that these are all Spectrums and that not everyone has the same symptom profile. Someone I thought I was dating just wanted to steal my meds. Still, in general, why should I be embarrassed about something I didn't choose? I'm sure as hell going to make the most of it and be proud of the fruits of that labour. Most people with the combined subtype of attention deficit <em>and </em>hyperactive can't get organised without a lot of support, and I had to learn all the tactics to manage my attention so shy not use them to sort other people out, too? I love people, people are so interesting, and I've been told I'm good with them. I'm a chameleon, really, I adapt, but of course it's sometimes hard. The most difficult has been to learn how to curb my enthusiasm. Not everyone wants to move at the speed that I tend to want to travel in terms of my brain. So, I have found a profession where being able to work with people in short, very effective bursts of activity works — for both me and my clients.  At best, it means I can anticipate their needs. At worst, sometimes clients get…" Edgar pauses, "…tired of my impatience with how slow they are to respond. I don't seem to have an <em>off</em> button. I was dismissed once simply for being, I quote <em>'too much</em>'."</p><p>"John sometimes would wish that of me, too, I'm sure, that there was an off switch to flick. Mostly when I inadvertently ignore him because I am fixated on something else."</p><p>Edgar leans back a bit in his chair, then sweeps his arm across the scene behind them. "Look at all this. We're at one of the most beautiful ballrooms in London, sipping free champagne. People are assembled here to celebrate <em>your</em> achievements among other things, plus you have quite the man waiting for you at home. Maybe that group down in that dinner table weren't very impressed by you, but frankly, I wasn't impressed by them. One of the men — the one who marched out — had such a badly fitting jacket that they should be taken to the Old Bailey for crimes against good taste, and what the hell kind of a person covers up the best parts of a vintage Azzedine Alaia gown with an ugly scarf that isn't even silk?" Edgar jokes. "It's all a matter of perspective. Having worked with some very powerful, influential individuals, I can assure you that none of them lack insecurities and individual traits they've had to overcome to get where they are. What I suspect connects them is their willingness to step out of their comfort zone to give those difficult things a go."</p><p>Sherlock realises this is the ideal opportunity to raise a question. "So, are you willing to step outside of your comfort zone? I have asked you about making this contract permanent. Have you decided?"</p><p>Edgar smiles, looking relieved. "This is working well for me. I am happy to continue."</p><p>Sherlock breathes a sigh of relief. This is one good outcome from this evening. "On that positive note, can you give the driver a call and say we're ready to leave? I'm going to go back down and make my excuses to the powers-that-be and head home.  I know John will be desperate to leave the hospital tomorrow morning as soon as he can be discharged, and I want to get enough sleep to have the energy to assist him. He always blames me for being a terrible patient, but in this case that idiom about pots and pans and kettles seems fitting."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Recovery</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As his cab negotiates Friday night London traffic towards Baker Street, Sherlock places a call to John without even checking how late the hour is.</p><p>The call is picked up quickly, and John sounds relaxed, if a bit tired. "Sherlock? Are you still at the dinner?"</p><p>"Heading home."</p><p>John doesn't ask why he's left early. He can probably guess that something's happened — or perhaps he just assumes that Sherlock had made a hasty escape as soon as he had dared because he hates big social events.</p><p>"How was it, then?" John finally asks when the silence stretches.</p><p>Sherlock knows he should inquire about John's leg and general wellbeing, but it must be the residual whisky which leads him to launch straight into recounting the incident at the dinner table.</p><p>"Wow. God, I wish I'd been there," John says incredulously.</p><p>"Why? So you could have told me off and salvaged the situation like you always do?"</p><p>"What? No! I wish I'd been there to witness you giving that fucking berk exactly what he deserves. I'd have also snogged you behind some column afterwards."</p><p>"You would have told me I was not being civil."</p><p>"Civil ought to be reserved for civilised people. And you were pretty civil in comparison to what I would have done — which is to punch his lights out."</p><p>"But I messed up. Like I always do."</p><p>"Sherlock, no. Alright, you said some pretty… unsavoury stuff, but you were well within your rights to defend yourself. Sounds like he tore into you before you had said anything <em>that </em>untoward about him. Why the hell would they even invite him?"</p><p>"According to Stella, he claimed he happened to be magically in London at this time, and practically invited himself. GOSH has a relationship with his hospital, so she didn't want to piss him off when he said he wanted to meet the wunderkind – his words, not mine."</p><p>"That means he came to that bloody gala poised for a fight. That just confirms that it had little to do with you."</p><p>"Why did it get so personal, then?"</p><p>"That's just… people. Sometimes I think you and Mycroft are right in that lots of them are idiots. Unlike you. I'm sorry you had a shit time."</p><p>"I… I'm not sure that is entirely accurate. I delivered my speech which seemed to go fine, I attended this whole thing though I didn't want to and, as you said, I put that idiot in his place. My manners or lack thereof may have alienated some of those poncey board members, but they knew what they were getting, and everyone at the table heard what Macdonald said about me first. The fact that they got Stella to recruit me must mean that they know I'm not… like everyone else."</p><p>"And you were still exactly what they wanted, warts and all."</p><p>Sherlock's eyes go wide. "<em>Warts?! </em>I don't have warts."</p><p>John bursts out laughing. "Figure of speech. I love you and I should tell you that more often. Not because you eviscerate asshats, but because you're you. All of you, all the time. Did you get to dance?"</p><p>"I refuse to do that with anyone but you."</p><p>"Good. I'm too tired and sore to get jealous right now."</p><p>"How are things? I hope they managed to rustle up a single room for you."</p><p>"Nope, they didn't, but my roommate is deaf and has advanced dementia on top of his just-repaired broken femur. He's very quiet."</p><p>"I'm tempted to turn this cab around and come share your bed."</p><p>"I'm tempted to let you, but it's not big enough." John yawns. "Had some oxy an hour ago and it's making me tired. I'll see you in the morning?"</p><p>Sherlock had promised to come pick him up first thing in the morning. "Of course."</p><p>He expects John to hang up, but instead, he seems to sense that Sherlock still feels restless and disappointed in himself, because he asks, "Sherlock? Everything alright?"</p><p>"Why are you willing to accompany me to social events?"</p><p>"Generally, I book them, and <em>you</em> accompany <em>me</em>. And you often say no to going."</p><p>"I keep embarrassing you. I always do."</p><p>He hears the rustling of sheets and a creaking of metal — John appears to be sitting up in bed. "Sherlock, <em>no</em>. Where is all of this coming from tonight? I wasn't there, so how could you have embarrassed me?"</p><p>"Anything I do reflects on you. This evening made it obvious that there are rumours about me in professional circles. People talk. It makes them prejudiced about me, and that makes me wonder why I even try to change things for myself. It makes me question why I decided to say yes to this position."</p><p>"You've done great so far."</p><p>"With Edgar's help and your advice."</p><p>"Didn't Mycroft tell you nobody in such a position could make do without assistants?"</p><p>"He employs real assistants, not people who are mostly there to tell him what people really mean when they say things or make certain expressions."</p><p>"What is Edgar, then, if not a real assistant? He seems pretty real and professional to me, not… whatever you wouldn't like calling him."</p><p>"He's aware of my shortcomings and actively seeks to assist me by compensating for them."</p><p>"I have the impression that bigshot bosses often employ personal coaches and therapists and such. It's a big industry, even, isn't it — all sorts of consultants?"</p><p>"They don't employ therapists because they're on some Spectrum considered to be a neuropsychiatric disorder."</p><p>"Look, Love… none of us knows what other people get up to in terms of therapy, nor should we. Don't dwell on it tonight. You're in a crap mood, and you've had a bit to drink. You'd be the first to tell me your neurotransmitters are drained and whatnot. Please believe me that you don't embarrass me. Even when you sometimes say… things, when we're socialising, who and what you are is so much more than that and how I feel most of all is always damned proud of you and thinking I must look like such a mediocre bore standing next to you."</p><p>"That is patently untrue."</p><p>"So's the shit you're saying about yourself tonight. I mess up, too, with other people — say the wrong thing, have no patience for idiots. Neither of us is perfect, and haven't I told you how much you've helped me professionally and in other ways through the years. What's the difference between that and what Edgar does for you? In principle, nothing."</p><p>"I believe he was attempting to make a similar point tonight. That we all have something. And that we all need a bit of help."</p><p>"Can you accept that?"</p><p>"After being force-fed help which always turned out to be anything but useful throughout my childhood, no."</p><p>"And it's good that you recognise that. Still, you were the one who hired Edgar because you didn't want the ASD stuff to stop you from doing what you wanted to do. That's not a crutch, Sherlock, that's being realistic, and I haven't given you as much credit for that decision-making as I should have. That's going to stop, even if I have to tell you that you are amazing every single day."</p><p>"You're being awfully… I don't know… emotionally verbose today. Very un-English of you."</p><p>"You can blame the oxy if you want, but I blame my husband. Goodnight, Sherlock."</p><p>"Goodnight, John."</p><p><br/>_____________________________<br/><br/></p><p><br/>At ten the next morning, John is sitting in the central foyer Ruskin Wing just outside the Murray Falconer ward from which he's just been discharged. Mostly catering to neurosurgical patients and thus a frequent venue for Sherlock's work, it also houses the occasional elective orthopaedic patient overnight. Knee arthroscopy tends to be a day surgical thing, but since John had no adult available at home last night, he'd been happy to stay at the ward.</p><p>While waiting for his husband to appear, he has been skimming the information leaflet he'd been given by one of the nurses. It's written for the layperson, of course, and Laura Arthur had gone through his individualised recovery instructions last night to enable an early morning discharge, but John knows the unit's rules dictate that such things be provided in writing even to patients who are physicians.</p><p>The leaflet lists as common side effects a bit of fluid in the joint, bruising which can expand down to the calf, and pain. He's having all of them, and it's been surprising how much this relatively small procedure has affected his wellbeing. He would never have predicted he'd need a low-dose noradrenalin drip during the procedure but apparently, the block caused by a regular dose of spinal anaesthetic tends to rise more aggressively in him than most patients. He has spent years reassuring patients that a high-ish block is not dangerous, just uncomfortable, but since he had not experienced it himself, he had no idea how claustrophobic the feeling of some of his respiratory muscles going numb would be. They'd even given him some midazolam when he started getting antsy on the table, which then led to him stirring some twenty minutes later with an oxygen mask on his face.</p><p>According to Laura, he had dozed off and dropped his oxygen saturation enough to warrant supplemental oxygen. In the recovery room, he'd been exhausted and dizzy which had continued well into the evening at the ward, and painkillers had added a bit of nausea into the mix. His blood pressure kept hovering relatively low — but not so low that it would have demanded intervention with medication at the ward. It was only after breakfast that it returned to his normal level. After a good meal and a mug of coffee he finally felt quite tolerable, and would be going home with a newfound respect for how much even endoscopic knee surgery combined with spinal anaesthesia can mess up a patient's homeostasis.</p><p>It's fifteen minutes past ten now, and John wonders if he should text Sherlock to see what's keeping him. John hopes that he hadn't got so drunk as to be sleeping off a hangover. <em>He's such a lightweight.</em></p><p>Just as John is about to start typing up a text, the lift doors open and Sherlock walks out. Instead of a suit, he's wearing black jeans and a white dress shirt neatly tucked in under a burgundy cardigan. His coat is unbuttoned, and he hasn't worn a scarf. There are dark shadows under his eyes and his pallor signals the same: exhaustion, insomnia, worry.</p><p>"Do you need the pharmacy?" Asks Sherlock instead of saying hello when he stops his unenthusiastic stride in front of John.</p><p>"Morning to you, too," John jokes. "No, I stocked up on paracetamol and ibuprofen last week, and I've got enough oxy here until Monday." He lifts an envelope out of his overnight bag.</p><p>"Stitches or Steri-strip?"</p><p>"Dissolving stitches. I'll need the crutches for a week, Laura says. Then, if I can hop on one knee without pain at two weeks, I can drive and get back to work."</p><p>"Drive?" Sherlock's nose is scrunching up as he frowns. "You can't drive?"</p><p>"No, of course not. That's why I left the car at home yesterday, remember?"</p><p>Sherlock looks like he doesn't. He must have been very distracted by the gala dinner, of course. "You need to be on your feet at home every two hours to prevent DVT," he declares.</p><p>"Yeah, I know," John confirms.</p><p>"And you need to monitor for infection."</p><p>"Of course."</p><p>"And you can't bathe until the stitches are gone."</p><p>"Sherlock, I know all that."</p><p>"How infirm will you be? What do I need to do?"</p><p>John wonders why Sherlock can't reason it himself what help he might need with a bad leg. He seems… scattered, in the way that he gets when there's a problem he has been trying to solve but can't. It consumes him, and he can't get any rest.</p><p>John grabs his crutches, grabs the handles and rises to his feet. Sherlock gingerly grabs his overnight bag.</p><p>"Can't say I missed having to use a cane or anything like it," John makes conversation.</p><p>"It's sensible to lessen pain by taking pressure off the joint. Might prevent fluid accumulation," Sherlock rattles off without any enthusiasm. He sounds like he's on autopilot.</p><p>John starts for the door, careful to keep his heel off the floor with the help of the crutches. Sherlock follows him wordlessly into the lift.</p><p>"You okay?" John asks when they wait for the lift to reach the entrance floor.</p><p>"Yes, of course. Why wouldn't I be?"</p><p>"Are you still thinking about the gala?"</p><p>This gets a reaction. "And what if I am?" Sherlock snaps.</p><p>"It means you're giving it too much weight. You already bagged the deal, so this was just an after-party, something to show up in, smile to some investors and then come home. What happened will be forgot, especially when they see you in action kicking this project off the ground."</p><p>Sherlock replies nothing, simply walks out of the lift the moment the doors begin sliding open.</p><p>"Wait up," John complains after him. He's not as quick as he normally is, and Sherlock's longer legs always force John to jog after him even when his knee isn't busted.</p><p>Their transport is idling at the kerb; it turns out to be one of Uber's so-called black fleet, meaning drivers with slightly fancier cars. Sherlock seems to have taken to the service to which Edgar had introduced him; he doesn't have to argue over price or talk to the driver even as much as one has to converse with a cab driver. And it's still cheaper than booked cab services.</p><p>They sit in silence as the journey starts — until John can no longer ignore what's obvious: something is bothering Sherlock. "You didn't sleep much, did you?"</p><p>"I'm accustomed to sharing the bed with you. I never sleep well when you're not there." Slightly accusatory.</p><p>"Anything else?"</p><p>"Why are you fishing for something?" Sherlock turns to look at him. "I don't want to talk, and we have your convalescence to plan."</p><p>"Not that much planning involved. Use muscles every two hours but give the knee its rest, ice it, take the painkillers. That's pretty much it."</p><p>"Edgar has kindly made sure we have food for at least seven days, and you can always make the next Ocado order earlier than our usual. He also made sure there's ice in the freezer and chemical cold packs."</p><p>John feels a slight pang of disappointment that Sherlock hadn't sorted those things out himself. John hadn't asked him to, but his needs being outsourced to Edgar still feels… impersonal — like he's a thing Sherlock puts on his calendar because otherwise he'd forget. John knows it's not deliberate, and that Sherlock's schedules will be easier now that the Steadman plan has been approved, but still.</p><p>"Is that not satisfactory? Why aren't you saying anything?" Sherlock demands, sounding alarmed and exasperated.</p><p>He sounds like he's a tight rubber band about to snap.</p><p>"Sherlock, I… I know you don't think you want to talk, but when has it not helped, once you get into it?"</p><p>"It doesn't change anything. I can't make anyone forget about last night."</p><p>"Forget? Why?" John lets out a breath. "Remind me: what did he say to you before you said <em>anything </em>he might have considered offensive."</p><p>Sherlock's superb memory allows him to relay a word-by-word account of the conversation with the previous leader of the shunt design project.</p><p>"What an arsehole," John says.</p><p>Sherlock's eyes go wide. "I–– I know I shouldn't have said anything––"</p><p>"No!" John protests, "not you! I meant the <em>other guy</em>. He comes here, to your territory, to disrespect you. How's that collegial? Of course, he's going to be bitter, and you were in fine form deducing him, but he started."</p><p>"This isn't a schoolyard, John. Nobody remembers who started it; all they remember is what I did."</p><p>"The board members should have come to your defence, rather than let that jerk be so rude."</p><p>Sherlock shakes his head. "British reticence. I don't blame them. No one likes making a scene except me, it would seem."</p><p>John pats his knee, rests his palm on top of it. "The fact that you picked up on the atmosphere changing says that you're more observant these days, more than you give yourself credit for. Anyone would have been provoked, and there's one thing I envy in you: have you any idea how many times I've only come up hours later with what I would have wanted to say to take someone down proper and hard when they piss me off. You rarely freeze; instead, you <em>eviscerate</em> them. Macdonald went for some very low blows, and he went there first."</p><p>"He has a huge network. This will not bode well."</p><p>"So what if he knows people? Maybe some of his pals won't give you a keynote at some American conference, but you've had plenty and you hate that stuff, anyway. You took this shunt project to be able to focus on what it is you enjoy and want to do. You don't need to collect more prestige points; you're already on the top of the heap. All the networking, putting up with guys like Macdonald is a means to an end, and you have reached all the goals you need for that. Most neurosurgeons will never find themselves at a career height similar to yours. Enjoy it, and the fact that the higher someone is in the pecking order, the more quirks they're allowed." John smirks.</p><p>"Some of the Cambridge professors certainly had… personality."</p><p>"We all want to be remembered, yeah? You will definitely be remembered…" he rushes to add "…for all the <em>right</em>reasons for your achievements. I'm sure you prefer that to what happens to a lot of people, which is being forgot about because they're bland and boring."</p><p>John reaches out to finger the cuff of Sherlock's shirt which is peeking out of his coat sleeve; he tugs it playfully a few times. "Sorry I couldn't be there last night."</p><p>"To make faces at me and kick me under the table so that I'd shut up?"</p><p>"Sherlock, cut it out. I already told you I would have been on your side. Besides, I thought you felt it's been useful that I give you cues sometimes."</p><p>"It is, but…" Sherlock huffs. "Edgar was helpful. So I <em>have</em> gone from relying on you to relying on him when you're not there."</p><p>"It's okay. You had some really good points about the service which I hadn't thought of. I don't mind having Edgar around, honestly."</p><p>"He frees me up to deal with what is my area." Sherlock grimaces in distaste. "Turns out we have more in common than I would have assumed."</p><p>John removes his hand and readjusts his seat so that he can hold his bad knee a little straighter. "Oh? He's not on the Spectrum, is he?"</p><p>"No. Not my Spectrum, at least." Sherlock leaves it at that.</p><p>"Is it just the dinner last night that kept you up last night?"</p><p>"Yes and no. Made the mistake of having an espresso after coming home to catch up on some paperwork since I wouldn't have been able to fall asleep right away. I assumed that you were able to find some rest at the ward since you didn't text me. I'm sorry you couldn't come home for the night."</p><p>"They would have probably kept me overnight even without your dinner thing," John comments without thinking.</p><p>Sherlock head snaps around and the sharpened gaze fixes John in place. "What do you mean?"</p><p>"Had some BP issues and nausea. Nothing a good night's sleep couldn't fix."</p><p>"Why wasn't I informed?"</p><p>"It wasn't anything they couldn't sort out at a regular ward."</p><p>"But if you were severely hypo- or hypertensive, they should have put you in an HDU bed from recovery. Neither scenario fulfils our agreed-upon recovery area discharge criteria. You didn't make them bend the rules for you, did you?"</p><p>"No, I didn't. It's alright, Sherlock, it was sorted. Chucked up a few times because of pain meds and they checked my BP hourly until it stuck to where it's supposed to be."</p><p>"I don't like being kept in the dark," Sherlock insists, alarmed. "You had all this information and didn't share; were you planning on not telling me how things progressed?"</p><p>"I didn't think it was necessary. I didn't want you to worry."</p><p>"You don't get to make that call!" Sherlock insists, so loud that their driver glances at them in the rear-view mirror.</p><p>"I know you. You start worrying and you work yourself into a tizzy and the thoughts start going around and around and you whip yourself up to some hair-pulling, self-deprecating panic because all the interpretations you have to work with are yours and they have an inbuilt contingency margin based assumption that most things are your fault and your failing. Am I getting warmer?"</p><p>Sherlock makes a small, strangled sound against his coat. "I told you: I don't want to talk."</p><p>"If you don't want to use me as a sounding board, then that just tells me you're so drained that you shouldn't be thinking about this at all."</p><p>"What do you propose I do, then?" A messy head of curls rises so their eyes meet. Some of the restless energy already seems to have drained out of the man. Physical things usually work, even very small things.</p><p>With a gentle palm, John coaxes him to rest his head on his shoulder again. "Nothing. Just be with me. Let me sort you out."</p><p>"You're the one currently needing assistance."</p><p>"I'll tell you what you need to do but it isn't much. Let's just get home and to bed, yeah?"</p><p>"It's noon. Why would we be in bed?"</p><p>Then, the other shoe drops. "Oh. <em>OH!</em> But John, your leg?"</p><p>"If we can work around a bloody halo vest, we can manage a bum knee. We could even just have a nap together, you know?"</p><p><br/>________________________<br/><br/><br/></p><p>In the bedroom, no words are needed. Chastely, carefully, clothes are discarded. Sherlock helps John where it's needed; getting trousers on and off his stiff, sore leg will be a challenge for the next few days. John feels a strange pang of delight over how carefully Sherlock arranges his crutches to lean against a chair so that they'll be easily within reach when he gets up. Sherlock is tired to the point of pliancy as John arranges them into spooning under the duvet, his operated-on leg resting comfortably on top of a pillow.</p><p>Without venturing into the realm of purposefully arousing, John caresses his husband, runs his fingertips along his earlobe, down the side of his long neck, to rest on his shoulder. Silently, Sherlock's body shifts and seems to hum under his ministrations, always sensitive, responsive, easy to irritate. It's like painting a picture — too thin a stroke will disappoint, too strong will work against the ultimate purpose. </p><p>"It was just one conversation last night, Sherlock, not the end of the world," John whispers into a receptive ear, flicking a few curls away from covering it. "You won the job because you're amazing." John kisses his shoulder with the slightest nip of teeth and relishes the shudder this elicits. "And you will push the design in ways that will astound everyone. Because you're better than the others. Because you're brilliant."</p><p>God, he loves the blush he can only see tinting a neck and the edges of an ear. "Always the smartest in the room. And you're here with <em>me</em>," he adds, stifling a giggle at how comical that possessive tone sounds in his own ears.</p><p>For Sherlock, there seems to be nothing amusing in that statement. He murmurs John's name as he nimbly turns in place within John's arm on his torso, and there's awe in his tone. John's heart stutters in his chest as the sorrow over witnessing Sherlock so unconfident after a setback, seeing how he always thinks his successes are, deep down, something that happens despite himself. John hopes for nothing more than for that to change, for Sherlock to see himself the way John sees him; someone he's privileged to love.</p><p>"Come here," John beckons quietly. "Closer."</p><p>After John drops onto his back, Sherlock crawls on top of him, clearly being careful of the knee.</p><p>"Can I—" Sherlock asks, already hoarse with arousal, and presses their groins together. Both still have pants on but even through the layers of fabric it's unmistakeable that they're both hard. The rhythmic stutter of his hips against John and the way he has wound his arms tightly around John's neck likely signals this is how he wants to come, from rutting against each other, embracing with the entire lengths of their bodies pressed together. John wraps his arms around his waist, presses small kisses along his bicep. </p><p>John slides his hands lower and grips his buttocks firmly, and the tighter contact of their now underwear-straining cocks makes Sherlock let out an almost whingeing groan, desperately for more. Despite the temptation to move, John stills himself so that Sherlock can find a rhythm. To avoid accidental pressure on his knee, John has spread his legs to accommodate him but not drawn his knees up. Sherlock's breathing has turned into strained panting as he chases the high against John, who can feel his grimace against his neck. Almost reluctantly, John removes one hand from the firm arse he can't get enough of to run his palm up a sweat-slick back in long, soothing strokes which he hopes will help Sherlock distract himself further from his head, to lose himself in the intimacy of their movements.</p><p>It's not enough. Soon, he grunts in frustration, raises himself by planting a hand beside John's head on the duvet and shoves his pants mid-thigh so that he can grip his cock. John loves watching him like this, desperate for it, uninhibited, gloriously selfish from being close. He would certainly describe Sherlock as an attentive lover, but when given explicit permission to just enjoy what john wants to give him, the sight is the most amazing turn-on John has encountered, like a Greek statue come to life, baring himself completely, offering himself for John to pleasure. Right now, John's cock has not failed to make note of the spectacle, and he presses his cheek against Sherlock's in a frantic bid to restrain himself. Chasing his own orgasm means he might miss witnessing his lover's.</p><p>Soon, Sherlock goes taut in his arms, the movements of his hand between them halting, fingers snapping straight. There's a near-shout as John feels the slight twitches and the wetness signalling the release of so much pent-up energy. John holds him tighter, letting his mouth slide against the tight sinews of his neck, the tip of his tongue tracing those lines and tasting every bit of salty skin along the way. Sherlock goes lax in his arms, raises his face from John's shoulder only enough that John can slip a wet kiss into the curls where they meet his forehead before he rests his head in the crook of John's neck again with a contended hum. He barely reacts as John gently shoves him down off himself to rest beside him. A sleepy mumble follows: "what can I do for you?"</p><p>"Nothing more, Love," John assures him. He can tell his husband is tired yet trying to be polite; coming from Sherlock of all people, John appreciates such effort and consideration greatly, which is why he's happy to let him off the hook.</p><p>Smiling, John slips his fingers around his own cock, and it doesn't take long until he finishes. He twitches as he grunts, then goes limp again, and by the time the blissed-out haze of his climax dissipates, a quiet snore right into his ear signals that Sherlock's hamster wheel of a brain has finally released its grip on his body and let him rest. They will wake up sticky and likely chilly from this nap, but John makes the executive decision that a few swipes with some tissues will be enough for now. He finds an angle for his knee on the pillow that twinges the least, calculates that there should be at least four hours of action left in the oxycodone tablet he'd been given, and lets himself drift off with his arms full of a boneless, debauched genius husband.</p>
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<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Parallels</h2></a>
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    <p>"So, how are things?" Joanna Pichler asks her patient.</p><p>Sherlock Holmes tucks an errant curl behind his ear; there's a window open in the appointment room, and the breeze coming in is shifting his hair.</p><p>It's been a month since their last session; due to being so busy with the launch, the neurosurgeon had claimed to have been forced to cancel two appointments. Looking at him now, Joanna is inclined to believe that he'd been truthful since he doesn't appear more anxious than usual. He is generally a punctual, meticulous person who wears his emotions more on his sleeve than he'd even admit.</p><p>It's been quite a formidable challenge, overcoming the damage done by Sherlock's prior therapists in decimating his willingness to trust any healthcare professional seeking to explore his mental health and the way he thinks and functions. In fact, it had taken a significant crisis to get him to open up about certain aspects of his life. He had been open to discussing his ASD before, but only in very general terms. He also had, for long, insisted that he was not a patient. Connecting the idea of his autism to needing psychological help appeared to be very difficult for him, and Joanna now understands how that could be connected to the constant signals from his surroundings when he was a child that there was something wrong with him that had to be fixed. And, if not fixed, suppressed, because his mother, in particular, seems to have valued false normality over the well-being of his son. The autistic traits of his which could not be suppressed had been brutally conditioned not to be manifested in front of others.</p><p>She had not quite appreciated the effect of Sherlock's upbringing on many of his issues before meeting his mother and witnessing the impact of a Christmas which had left him reeling. The jury is still out how much the relationship between mother and son can be salvaged. She had spoken with Violet Holmes after their first joint session and invited her to attend a support group assembly for the mothers of autistic children. She had not yet given her an answer on whether she'd consider doing so, which has disappointed Joanna. She had feared that she'd consider one session enough — a courtesy to what she might see as some meaningless whim of Sherlock's.</p><p>Two days ago, however, she had received a call from the Holmes matriarch inquiring whether that offer still stood. Violet stated dismissively that she wasn't entirely sure the timetable would allow it, but that she was planning to spend a few days in London in a few weeks and might be able to fit it in. Joanna wondered what had happened to change her mind — or perhaps she had just needed time to think about this. She makes a mental note to ask Sherlock about that after Violet has visited the group.</p><p>Now, however, the more pressing issue is to review how Sherlock's start at his new job has gone. She asks about it before the silence stretches on for too long. Sherlock doesn't seem to mind such gaps in conversation, doesn't feel compelled to fill them with small talk. Silence, for him, is more comfortable a state than the minefield of human interaction.</p><p>"Things are good," Sherlock summarises. "Settling down. The new unit has been opened, the research project proposal has been approved, hiring done and now, at last, we are getting to the part of doing some actual research."</p><p>"Did any of your worries materialise?"</p><p>He gives a recap of his biggest clashes with his new staff and at King's College. To Joanna, they sound merely skirmishes instead of major battles — normal things in the course of ironing out the kinks of getting new people to adjust to one another. The manner in which he had negotiated with his boss at King's impresses her.</p><p>"I didn't mess things up," Sherlock adds for emphasis. Instead of confident and proud, however, he still sounds a bit unsure — as though seeking confirmation and acceptance.</p><p>"You sound surprised by that."</p><p>"I've had expert help."</p><p>"Meaning?"</p><p>"John provides counsel, and I've hired a personal assistant."</p><p>"And how do you feel about accepting that help? We discussed earlier how important it was for you to succeed on your own."</p><p>"It has been pointed out to me that people in high positions have staff who attend to duties which would otherwise be a waste of their abilities and a distraction from more pressing matters. They also tend to have advisors."</p><p>"That is absolutely correct. Tell me more about this assistant."</p><p>"I could say that he's the silver lining on that dreadful gift my mother once gave us at Christmas of a concierge service. I simply took that and upgraded it to a more appropriate arrangement. Edgar has proven himself highly useful in making sure I don't have to shift my attention to minutiae. The latest piece of his genius has been that he monitors traffic patterns and the iPhone app Find My Friends to coordinate commutes when possible. Due to his knee, John's running has been put on hold for a few months, and on days when the weather doesn't favour walking, Edgar alerts him to when John leaves work so that we can carpool."</p><p>"It sounds as though you get along well with this new assistant?"</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"What about John?"</p><p>"What about him?"</p><p>"It sounds like this person is very involved in your life and, by extension, his. Has John accepted his presence?"</p><p>"Why wouldn't he? Edgar does many of the things which fell on John before. He has much less reason to complain about my household negligence."</p><p>"That is certainly a plus," Joanna confirms, "but have you considered how big a change your new professional circumstances and your new employee are for John as well?"</p><p>"I don't know what you mean."</p><p>"Then it may well be that there hasn't been any strain to your relationship."</p><p>"Strain?" Sherlock looks as though he has no idea what the psychiatrist is talking about. "Yes, John was worried about the impact of my new job on my stress level and the amount of time that we have together. John can get rather petty about other men directing attention at me, but Edgar has been instrumental in ensuring there is ample time for the two of us to unwind together and John has realised the benefits. I was dubious about the concept of<em>quality time</em>, but now I see what it means when we don't waste the evening and weekend hours we have together doing mundane, boring things."</p><p>"Counsel from John… as opposed to him being a <em>Mister Fix-it. </em>Does it feel like it's been a good change that you have been taking John's advice on how to manage people?"</p><p>"Why wouldn't it be?  I still impose on him when I ask his advice, but at least he's under no obligation to solve my problems. He's not responsible for anything other than giving me advice. That's new."</p><p>"You are taking important steps in relying less on him at work and at home, too. Sometimes that can make the other person feel less needed, less purposeful. When you were recovering from your neck injury, he struggled with feelings of not being able to support you enough, and the way you've described your time in Africa makes it sound like it was very important and fulfilling for him to help you manage with all the challenges there."</p><p>Joanna wouldn't claim to know John Watson very well — they'd only had two sessions together, but rarely had she seen such a devoted partner in a union of a neurotypical and an autistic individual. John had sought her advice because he had wanted to better understand how Sherlock functioned and what he found difficult in their relationship. How little Watson had seemed to consider such things before spoke volumes about how he saw his partner above all as their own person and not a diagnosis but admittedly, John may have also been quite ill-informed about how profoundly affected Sherlock's everyday life was by his neuroatypicality. The events surrounding John's battlefield injury and Sherlock's time in a halo vest had been a wake-up for the man in how profoundly ASD affected his partner even when at times when there were no visible signs of that strain. Clearly, it was very important for John to be able to look after his spouse — Joanna had sensed an intense protective streak there, which is why she is raising this subject now.</p><p>"He's not my parent," Sherlock dismisses, "as much as my mother likes to think she passed on that torch to him."</p><p>"No, he is certainly not a parent or a caregiver, but in the past, you have deferred to him in many things which you are now attempting on your own."</p><p>"Are you saying he might prefer me to go back to the way things were?"</p><p>Pichler smiles. "No — the opposite, I'm sure, on a conscious level. I would still advise you to be mindful of how John reacts to this period of change. It's a big change for you both, and it's easy to underestimate how much such things can impact on both people in a relationship."</p><p>"He told me last night he's proud of me, lamented somewhat humorously that he thinks I won't need him for anything at King's anymore, which is completely wrong. I told him to stop being ridiculous — that I'll always need him."</p><p>"That was very good, verbalising such a thing."</p><p>"As far as I can tell, things are fine between us."</p><p>"I'm glad to hear that. Is your assistant aware of your being on the Spectrum?"</p><p>"Yes; I made it clear from the beginning. He was there when I told the GOSH representatives, flat out, that I was neuroatypical and that any staff recruited would have to deal with that. I weighed my options and decided that full disclosure would make things easier for me."</p><p>Joanna finds herself surprised. Before, she is certain Sherlock would never have said the words out loud in any professional context. He'd told John about his diagnosis when they had first met only because he needed John's help with a related problem that was threatening his career.</p><p>"That's great news, Sherlock! It sounds like you told them they needed to accommodate you rather than the other way around."</p><p>"It seemed fair to ensure they knew what they were getting. If they truly wanted to recruit me outside of any competitive process, then I must have had some advantage in making demands."</p><p>"Perhaps it is less a demand as it is a reasonable request to help prevent conflicts. The NHS does have a Workforce Disability Standard, and different Trusts usually have a Disability Policy."</p><p>"Still, no Trust would be obligated to headhunt such a person for a high position."</p><p>"No, but they could easily headhunt someone they thought of as the best candidate, regardless of whether they are on the Spectrum or not. It can just be useful information they need to take into account. And that is what you have given them."</p><p>"It didn't seem to put them off." Sherlock sounds a bit suspicious still. "But it's early days yet."</p><p>His wary attitude doesn't surprise Joanna. For most of his life, Sherlock has treated ASD as his darkest secret, concealing the way it affects his life often even from his partner. "How did your assistant respond to your reveal?"</p><p>"He wasn't put off at all," Sherlock replies; negativity is the response he always expects from people. "As it turns out, he is on the ADHD Spectrum himself. Admittedly, my knowledge in that area was lacking, which I have since remedied. His range of symptoms lacks impulse control and consequence analysis issues which many other ADHD individuals have, and that has allowed him to thrive socially and helped him manage the demands of steady employment and secondary education. Strangely enough, he seems to be so exceptionally good at his job because of the many things he's had to learn to compensate for his weaknesses. He turned his greatest impediment into his greatest asset. And doesn't seem very embarrassed by who he is."</p><p>"Should he be?"</p><p>"No, of course not."</p><p>"How difficult do you think his path has been to where he is now?"</p><p>"I don't know how his parents dealt with his… neurology; I've not asked about them. I suspect some of his schoolmates probably were not… <em>fond</em>." Sherlock frowns. "Those ADHD traits which are most noticeable in him will certainly make some people uneasy, amused or even suspicious; they certainly did John. Since those traits are something which Edgar cannot change, he learned to work around them, and the skills he's picked up, he is now using professionally. He's quite clever. Clearly, the intellect can compensate for a lot."</p><p>"Do you see a parallel there to your own life? Have your ASD traits been solely an impediment, or have some of them helped you along in your pursuit of a career in neurosurgery?"</p><p>"The negative and the positive are so intimately etched together that it's hard to make distinctions like that."</p><p>"Fair enough. I might suggest that your ability for intense focus has probably been an asset. In ADHD that is also often a feature; the greatest difficulties with adult individuals on that Spectrum are often about the shifting of attention rather than the ability to concentrate, per se. They can be as driven and hyperfocused as those on the ASD Spectrum when something motivates them."</p><p>"Edgar is very organised, which I might have originally assumed might rule out such a diagnosis as ADHD but, as it turns out, some of what is referred to as super-organisation in ADHD individuals is a highly developed compensatory strategy. He makes dozens of lists, some of which only have one or two entries."</p><p>She finds it reassuring that Sherlock seems intrigued by his new assistant and thus very willing to try to analyse him. "Have you considered whether it is his skills or his attitude towards his ADHD that gives you food for thought?"</p><p>"He seems to see it as just part of his identity. Not good, not bad, it just… is."</p><p>"Does that sound constructive to you?"</p><p>"Perhaps."</p><p>"Am I right in assuming that, while you have been willing to recognise certain parts of being on the autism spectrum as conducive to a career in surgery or academia, all in all, you have seen it as a very negative thing in your life?"</p><p>Sherlock nods, flexes his fingers, curls the tips around his kneecaps. Joanna had made note very early on that he is a very restless, haptic person when he's not completely at ease. It makes his anxiety somewhat easy to recognise and scale.</p><p>"John likes comparing Edgar and me for his own amusement. '<em>Never thought I'd meet someone who talks even more than you'</em>, he told me last night." He blinks, and Joanna knows that's when he's thinking hard and fast. "I'm not sure I like it when John is amused by him. It makes me wonder if he finds me amusing, too, and not in a way I feel comfortable with. I hope he isn't laughing at Edgar's expense, expecting me to join in."</p><p>"So, you feel protective of this young man?"</p><p>"No, not really. Edgar can certainly fend for himself. In many ways, he does it far better than I do. His social intelligence is admirable, and there is a sense of confident self-awareness there that must come from being at ease with oneself. I cannot let go like that in the company of others, to enjoy social interaction without constant self-monitoring. He says that he self-monitors constantly, too, though, and that it's both a blessing and a curse. Still, it must be rewarding to reap the benefits of such a skill."</p><p>"It may well be that he has to suppress certain traits, and simply does it so well that it's hard to spot. Difficulties in slowing one's thinking and verbal output down to the speed of neurotypicals, waiting for one's turn and sticking to politeness instead of the honesty borne out of extreme spontaneity can be such issues."</p><p>"I often say things which put others off."</p><p>"Some features of ASD and ADHD overlap, such as intense focus and certain social difficulties. You seem particularly impressed with the social intelligence you think he possesses."</p><p>"He reads people outstandingly well and can suggest tailored communication strategies to different situations."</p><p>"Does he do this to assist you when you interact with John?"</p><p>"No, he doesn't. Edgar seems to employ more discretion to when it comes to things regarding our relationship than he does to situations in which I interact with other people. While I might tolerate such advice, I doubt John would welcome it"</p><p>"You may well be right. He might feel it's intrusive, or that he finds the idea that you need preparation to talk to him alarming."</p><p>Sherlock seems to consider this for a moment. "John hasn't minded me talking to you about our relationship. Why would Edgar be different?"</p><p>"Therapist versus assistant. Perhaps for John, there is an important difference."</p><p>"I don't quite get it, but perhaps this is one of those things where I am prepared to just take your word for it."</p><p>Joanna suspects that is not something Sherlock often says to people. He is a man of science who wants empirical evidence, logic and concrete rules, and the bane of his existence seems to be that interpersonal relationships often lack such things from his perspective.</p><p>"Perhaps you feel a kinship to Edgar because you have both had to overcome the assumptions of others regarding your abilities based on your neuropsychiatric diagnoses," she suggests.</p><p>"He's on medication. I doubt he goes to therapy."</p><p>"He may well have had therapy when he was younger if it was available to the family."</p><p>"In a way," Sherlock says, and his tone has gone distant and cold, "it must be easier with ADHD because medications for it can be very effective."</p><p>"Let me finish that sentence: …<em>while for autism such a medication does not exist</em>?"</p><p>He sighs.</p><p>"If there was a pill you could take, one that would make you neurotypical instantly, would you take it?"</p><p>"What a preposterous concept. The idea that there is a <em>cure</em> sounds hideously misguided."</p><p>"Ableistic attempts at curing autism aside, just humour me, Sherlock. If there was a pill you could take that would make you <em>normal</em>, would you take it?"</p><p>His finger flex into fists at his sides, then relaxes. The lines of his shoulders tighten and shift; sometimes, the intensity of his thought processes can be read on his body. Joanna suspects John Watson has learned to read this language, and that it has made him so uniquely good at defusing the bombs Sherlock's neurological makeup constructs at times.</p><p>This is something she has always liked about this reticent genius patient of hers: no matter how pointless, naive or misguided he considers a question to be, he always takes care to give a thoroughly weighted, intelligent answer.</p><p>This question is something she has asked other patients, and never very early into treatment. It is a dangerous but effective test in measuring how far the process has taken them in self-acceptance.</p><p><em>Would you take it? </em>she wonders as she watches Sherlock shift on the sofa.</p><p>Finally, his gaze loses its steely edge. He seems to relax, and Joanna feels more relaxed, too, because she realises she knows the answer before he even says it.</p><p>"No, I wouldn't."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Director</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Why don't you come up for a minute?" Sherlock suggests when John calls him to say he's parked on Coram Street just outside GOSH.</p><p>It's a maximum fifteen-minute spot; John could have picked one of the commercial parking service areas close by, but he hadn't known he'd be invited to come in. That's why he asks, "You're not done with today yet? Edgar said you were."</p><p>The assistant had texted him forty minutes earlier to inquire whether a joint commute could be possible for the two doctors, and John had just spotted the young man walking out of the hospital, presumably heading for Russell Square Tube station.</p><p>"I've wrapped things up, yes, but I'd like to show you around," Sherlock suggests confidently. "The last building work finished yesterday."</p><p>John knows how big a project setting up the physical space for the Dahl unit has been. Sherlock probably hadn't realised how much of his time would be spent poring over architectural drawings and picking furniture and lab equipment just as he was supposed to focus on formulating a budget, an operational plan and a research proposition so that the new unit could be launched. But, once the project kicked off proper, the concrete nature of planning his new workplace seemed to excite him, and Sherlock's sense of style and sartorial knowledge of fabrics and other such things had served the endeavour well.</p><p>John is already out of the car. Yes, absolutely, he wants to see the results. "I'll be right there."</p><p>"Third floor, follow the signs for the Koala Ward and turn left at vending machines. You can't miss the new signs from there."</p><p>John knows that the Koala Ward is for neurosurgical patients; he remembers Sherlock having mentioned it many times. That's where his tiny shunt and tumour patients are always housed on the occasions when King's loans him out to GOSH for a specific case.</p><p>Sherlock had been correct: a large sign with black text on the thematic background colour Sherlock had picked instructs him to walk on and then turn left for the <em>Dahl Centre of Excellence for Complex Hydrocephaly</em>. Once John arrives at a set of sliding doors, he spots a plaque on the wall naming all the key personnel and acknowledging Steadman's funding contribution.</p><p>Above all others on the plaque, it says: <em>Director: Dr Sherlock Holmes</em>.</p><p>John grins. He hadn't quite anticipated how much seeing it in print, on-site, would affect him. Saying that he's proud would be a little… condescending, wouldn't it? Then again, why shouldn't he be allowed to be proud? Sure, he'd expressed his reservations, but they shouldn't be things which wouldn't have occurred to Sherlock as well. He'd been supportive of John when he'd been promoted to Clinical Director and, at first, John had merely felt obligated to return the favour. But now, after seeing how hard Sherlock had worked, particularly in areas where he had to throw himself into something that he found particularly difficult, John's admiration for him has increased immensely.</p><p>He's always been impressed by Sherlock, has always admired his husband. But now it seems that Sherlock has finally broken through the limitations he had believed he had, demanding that others accommodate his… quirks so that they could make use of his talents — instead of trying to force his proverbial square peg into a round hole to fit in. He had stumbled occasionally in the early stages of this new project, just as John had predicted he would, but wouldn't anyone? Had Sherlock struggled more than any of his esteemed neurosurgical research colleagues would have done in the face of this formidable challenge? After all, a much older and much more administratively experienced colleague who was likely as neurotypical as they came, had failed to get the shunt design unit off the ground.</p><p>John presses the doorbell next to the electric lock. Through the plexiglass doors, he soon spots Sherlock striding down the hallway, pivoting on a heel once to say something to a passing co-worker with a quick and courteous smile before continuing to the door. The jacket of his new, very slim-lined black suit is unbuttoned, revealing a perfectly fitted, borderline straining, Picotee blue shirt that accentuates out the bluer hues in his eyes. His hair looks as impeccable as ever but longer than he's had it for years, which lends him a slightly boyish, artfully dishevelled look. He still pouts when John says he looks good wearing glasses. There's a GOSH nametag clipped to the edge of his trouser pocket, and he looks every bit the up-and-comer star neurosurgeon he is.</p><p>John's heart swells as he reminds him that this gorgeous man is married to him.</p><p>Sherlock slaps a palm on a button on the wall, and the sliding doors open. To John's surprise, Sherlock intercepts him a few steps into the unit and plants a quick kiss on his cheek. Public displays of affection are not their style, even if there is currently no one else present in the small lobby.</p><p>Sherlock then steps back, circling his left wrist with the fingers of his right hand, now looking expectantly official. "We kept the lobby small to dedicate as much space to the laboratories as we could."</p><p>"Makes sense," John confirms.</p><p>Sherlock leads him down the corridor to look in through a set of large windows. "This is the <em>in vivo</em> section. Once the permits are cleared, we'll be using cadaver tissue and animal models. The <em>in vitro</em> had to be put a floor below since we couldn't expand the wing any further without blowing the budget. It's exactly what you'd expect, no need to go in there."</p><p>"Alright," John agrees. His eyes scan the brand-new laminated cupboards, gleaming stainless-steel tables, and the technicians and research staff bustling about. He knows who has had a hand in picking every one of them.</p><p>Sherlock has stepped away from the windows, arms crossed and looking like he expects John to move. The second John steps back from watching the staff moving about the lab, he starts heading for the end of the corridor.</p><p>"Welcome to the <em>war room</em>," Sherlock announces with a smirk and flings the door there wide open after activating the lock with a key fob.</p><p>What John walks into in his wake is a large conference room lined by whiteboards and computer tables. Sherlock walks to a large machine in the corner and perches his fingertips on the lid.</p><p>"3D printer for brainstorming. It's hard just to conceptualise technical designs on a whiteboard especially for people with less visuospatial aptitude than I have; now, we can try things out more concretely, and I can get them to understand what I mean more easily. The user interface of the design program turned out to be horrid, but I'm getting the hang of it."</p><p>John notices a large box of post-it notes in different colours. "Also for brainstorming?"</p><p>"Yes," Sherlock confirms. "But also for interpersonal communication and conflict resolution. While I detest the notion of an open-door policy since it encourages pointless conversations and cluttering up people's time with micromanagement, I do recognise the need for a channel through which staff can bring forth their issues without fearing the nature of my reaction to them. So, they can stick these on my door, or the doors of any of the middle management. They can be seen by all who walk by, which keeps content civil, and if the postee wants to, they can put their initials on the note. If someone deals with them when I am not here, they get signed off but left here so that I can see what the problem was and how it was solved. Those that are left for the two days a week I am in are handled by me, but all of them are analysed and then addressed, if necessary, at staff assemblies. Edgar will assist with the analysis, and I will consult him about my responses."</p><p>"So, the aim is to not embarrass the senders, then?" John asks with a raised brow as he surveys the room.</p><p>The whiteboards are empty, but there are already traces of lots of scribbles on them, some of which he recognises as Sherlock's handwriting.</p><p>"I have picked up <em>some</em> tips and tricks from you through the years," Sherlock reminds him. "Apparently, calling people out publicly for their idiocy is frowned upon and bad for staff cohesion. Besides, I didn't hire any idiots."</p><p>John chuckles. "Of course, you didn't."</p><p>"The team gathers here every afternoon to solve pressing issues. My absence three days a week should encourage them to solve their own problems without having to wait to be unnecessarily managed. Some staff seem to also consider the afternoon assemblies a social occasion."</p><p>"And when you're here you fight that tooth and nail, I bet?" John teases him.</p><p>"I am turning a blind eye as long as things get done," Sherlock replies curtly. "On the days when I'm not here I don't, frankly, care if it turns into the equivalent of a ladies' luncheon, but when I'm present, the focus <em>will</em> be on work."</p><p>"Aye, Captain."</p><p>Sherlock gives him a side-eye and opens the door again to let John back into the corridor. He then heads to the opposite end of the corridor, to the very last door on the left. "This is me."</p><p>John nods, noticing that Sherlock's name is on a small sign by the door. Sherlock's, and no one else's. He knows that Sherlock had insisted on his own solitary office even though he's not there every weekday.</p><p>"The others had their pick of a more open office space or two-person rooms. I thought it important that those who thrive with a bit of distraction and social activity around them could choose what they wanted, and those needing a quiet space to focus could be accommodated as well."</p><p>John isn't surprised. Sherlock might often be socially oblivious and not very considerate of the needs of others, but since his own habits and requirements have often not been met at workplaces, he obviously has a lot of understanding for these things.</p><p>Sherlock opens the door and lets John explore his office. Large windows with high-quality, electrically operated blinds take up most of the walls on two sides of the corner office. There's a nice view of the greenery in an inner courtyard of the hospital. Sherlock's desk is an electric one raised to standing height, with a small square that looks a bit like a thick yoga mat placed in front of it."</p><p>"It's so I can take off my shoes when I'm having a longer writing session by the desk. The texture of the mat is… agreeable," Sherlock explains quickly.</p><p>He seems to be evading John's gaze; anything connected to his sensory issues or other things related to his ASD are still hard to talk about.</p><p>A desk chair has been shoved to a corner of the room. There's a comfortable-looking green sofa by a potted ficus, and mostly empty bookcase adorning one wall. Sherlock has moved some of the surgical textbooks at home to the shelves, and there's a framed photo from their wedding on a visible spot. The office is about three times the size of John's space at King's; Sherlock shares an office with two other consultants there. John knows he's always hated that and had been particularly annoyed by the fact that his old space had been given away while they were in Malawi.</p><p>John's opinion is that this is definitely a space befitting the director of a prestigious research unit. "Is anyone annoyed that your office is only occupied two days a week?"</p><p>"For me, it is essential to know that I can walk back in here and pick up exactly where I was when I left. It's an important part of compartmentalising two jobs. I can't function in an open office space; I need things to be the way I want them to be."</p><p>John had been worried when the idea of splitting Sherlock's time had first been discussed. "Do you wish you'd swapped it around, three days here and two at King's?"</p><p>"Not at all. I value my clinical work too much. I would never agree to stay away from the OR. As I said, <em>not</em> being here all the time means the team just get on with things as they should. It encourages them to be self-reliant, and that means when I am here, they leave me to get on with what I do best — the design work."</p><p>"Happier now that you are able to do more of that?"</p><p>"The Steadman CEO was here yesterday. He seemed pleased with our progress," states Sherlock and signs out of his computer.</p><p>"Well, he should be pleased."</p><p>"We haven't really done anything yet."</p><p>"That's not true. <em>You</em> have done lots. I know it's just a… facility, but you made all this. You picked these people; you've created a culture, a way of doing things."</p><p>"Well, yes," Sherlock confirms, looking a little confounded. "I just thought you might like to see it."</p><p>John licks his lips and takes Sherlock's hand. "You know what I like the most about this place?"</p><p>Sherlock hums inquisitively, giving his fingers a slight squeeze.</p><p>"Seeing you in it, walking about like you own the place. Because you do. Because you owned up to the fact that you could do this and told me to stuff it when I got sceptical and I'm so fucking pleased for you. Proud, if you don't think saying so is too… I don't know. You don't always seem to like it when I say that. I don't mean for it to sound condescending, or that you need my approval."</p><p>"You're… proud of me for disagreeing with you?"</p><p>John is tempted to kiss the baffled divot between his brows.</p><p>"Yeah, people are going to disagree with you, and you are going to keep saying stuff that shocks them, but that's a part of what they're going to remember from this place. Stories they're going to tell over wine and bloody cheese forty years from now will be about the fact that they worked with you, and that you had a memorable personality on the side of being utterly brilliant and inventing the best shunt anyone has ever seen."</p><p>"My old shunt already was the best one anyone had ever seen."</p><p>John chuckles at such breath-taking modesty. If Sherlock didn't believe in his own skills as a researcher, he could never spearhead a project like this.</p><p>Sherlock lets go of his hand and grabs his tablet and phone from the desk, shoving the latter into his jacket pocket. John has been trying to get him to buy at least a briefcase, but he has been adamant about not wanting to carry a bag with him. John hasn't tried to squeeze the reason out of him. <em>Must be some very Sherlock thing as usual.</em></p><p>John glances at his watch. "We have to get moving; I'm on a spot where I'll get towed if we don't drive off soon."</p><p>"Acceptable?" Sherlock asks quietly, not making a move yet for the door.</p><p>"Amazing," John confirms.</p><p>He's touched that Sherlock would still seek his approval like this. Maybe one day, he won't, and John isn't sure how he feels about that. <em>I can still be proud of him if I want to. </em>"In fact, let me show you how proud I am." He fishes his phone out of his pocket and swipes open the camera. "Stand in front of the plaque — the one with your name on it."</p><p>Sherlock rolls his eyes. "I hate having my photo taken; you know that."</p><p>He does go stand over by the plaque and plasters one of those forced smiles on his face, the one that John thinks does him no favours. He prefers the unexpected smiles, the ones that happen when Sherlock isn't being made to feel self-conscious. Suddenly, he grins because he knows just how to get the shot he wants.</p><p>"There's a smudge on the plaque; someone with sticky fingers must have been mucking about," he announces in a faux-concerned tone.</p><p>Alarmed, Sherlock pulls out his handkerchief and sets about cleaning the brass. John zooms in and takes the photo just as soon as he gets Sherlock's profile into focus, as he scrutinises the plaque while polishing.</p><p>"Done."</p><p>"Good. Let's go."</p><p>Sherlock yawns as they walk down the corridor towards the main entrance. The bouncy energy with which he'd received John for a visit seems to have fizzled out. Had he actually been <em>nervous</em> to show it to John?</p><p>"I meant what I said," John tells him as they wait for the lift. "You felt that this was a thing you wanted to do, even with the risks involved, and you didn't listen to the sceptics. I don't know what's happened to change your thinking, but you don't seem to assume anymore that there's certain stuff you just can't do, can't learn. I'd hoped that our marriage had changed some of that––"</p><p>"It has," Sherlock says pointedly. "And I've had… other help. Pichler, to be precise."</p><p>"You've also had people who kept telling you nothing would ever change. Have you told Violet about this?"</p><p>"She knows; she's talked to Stella. And she called me a few weeks ago."</p><p>John apologises as he nearly collides with a small boy running after his father in the foyer. He leads Sherlock through the main entrance and to their car. "I bet she'd like to see this place. George, too."</p><p>"That's a strong assumption. I don't want to have to fend off her belittling. It just comes out, and it doesn't always seem that she's even aware of it." Sherlock opens the car door and slips to the seat next to John, who starts the car.</p><p>"I'll print one off of the photo of you and the plaque. You can send it to her for the album." Sherlock had told him he had created one after being encouraged to do so by Doctor Pichler.</p><p>"She probably won't understand it, or she'll find a way to spin it negatively."</p><p>John feels obliged to see the positives, pointing out. "She is trying, you know, in her own way. She did come to see Pichler with you."</p><p>"It remains to be seen what comes out of that."</p><p>"How would you say things are between you and her? Better than two Christmases ago, at least?"</p><p>"In the air. One might say I've placed her on probation."</p><p>
  
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  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. He's My Son</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"I'm afraid that's all we have time for now," the psychiatrist had said to Violet at the conclusion of their joint session.</p><p>The psychiatrist who also administered psychotherapy was Austrian. Her accent was quite subtle, and Violet had stopped paying attention to it quickly. <em>Wasn't Freud Austrian as well?</em> It had been so strange to be sitting there, at the woman's office talking about her William, and Violet wonders whether any of it has really been helpful to her son. It had been eye-opening for her, that's for sure, because this therapist's approach is clearly very different from all those years ago. Violet wasn't just told things at that appointment — she was being asked for her opinion. No therapist ever assumed she had any answers, and they rarely considered or inquired how she felt about things regarding Sherlock. She never felt very <em>included</em>. All that suited George fine, of course, but since he left all the work to Violet, she would have wanted to be treated with some respect. All the experts they went to tended to assume she was clueless when it came to autism and that trained people should take over. They assumed that a <em>mother</em>would be useless.</p><p>"Thank you, Doctor Pichler," Sherlock had said just as he rose to his feet once their time was up. It was odd, hearing him so freely offer such politeness when Violet never quite seemed to manage to wrench it out of him.</p><p>"You should thank each other, too," Doctor Pichler had prompted.</p><p>Sherlock turned to Violet and nodded with a slightly wary smile. "I suppose I should."</p><p>Violet had been even more shocked. "Well, something is better than nothing," she replied. "I suppose I should be pleased that we have talked more to each other here than we have in ages. Is this something you think we should continue?"</p><p>If only her son didn't insist that they do so in a therapist's office. The accusation is still very insulting that Violet doesn't know how to speak with her own flesh and blood without professional help.</p><p>Doctor Pichler got up from her chair. "I suggest we all think about this for a while before making any decisions about another session."</p><p>Sherlock was already out the door, and a jingling sound from the corridor signalled that he had collected his coat off the hanger from a hook on the wall near the door.</p><p>Violet was just about to follow him out of the appointment room when the psychiatrist called after her. "Mrs Holmes?"</p><p>"Yes?" she answered and couldn't help being wary since she did not quite know what was to be made of these sessions.</p><p>"A group I mediate is meeting tomorrow evening for our monthly session since it's every first Wednesday of the month. It's one for parents of autistic children; both genders are welcome, but, at the moment, there are six mothers participating. I would like to invite you to attend a session — just to listen, no need to feel the pressure to talk. I think you would find it a good experience. Sherlock told me that you are staying here in London in a month attending an economic forum so if you can't make it this week, you'd be welcome to attend the next session."</p><p>She had been confused by the offer. "As you and Sherlock have just spent an hour trying to convince me, I no longer have an active role as the parent of an autistic child."</p><p>The psychiatrist was still smiling. "It's just something I would suggest you give consideration to. Six p.m. tomorrow, and we meet here in the conference room at the end of the hall. You might find it interesting, but I also think it might be helpful to the group."</p><p>Sherlock then popped his head back into the room with a slightly mischievous glint in his eye. "You see, it's not always about you, Mummy."<br/>
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</p><p>________________<br/>
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</p><p>Two months later, Violet is back in London — and bored. The day's discussion at the economic forum has been rather dreary. Recently retired, she finds the current debates about austerity versus budget deficits to be a rerun of arguments that have been fought over for decades. With few people on the panel over the age of forty, the discussion seems sterile. <em>Don't they know anything about history?</em> </p><p>When the Q&amp;A session wraps up, she dodges the invitation by the panel chair to join the rest of them for a drink because there is another engagement she is considering attending.</p><p>In the first days after meeting the psychiatrist, she hadn't seriously considered attending the support group session run by Doctor Pichler the next day. But the idea kept returning to mind, pressing on her and here she is, now, back in the city and the next available session is tonight. Would William want her to do this? Would he even care? <em>He did not seem very eager for another therapy appointment. Was he disappointed by how the first one had gone?</em> He'd been dismissive and cranky when she'd last spoken to him on the phone, and she'd been disappointed by that evasive conversation. After behaving quite civilly at that therapy session, in contrast, he had been very cold on the phone and eager to get rid of her. She had called to congratulate him, to hear about his new job, but he wasn't interested in telling her much. <em>It's as though he expects more from me, some grand gesture before he thaws, but I doubt he even knows what that might be.</em></p><p>Whether it's curiosity or a desire to do as her son has challenged her, at half-past five she decides not to take the first train back to North Chailey. Truth be told, she may have made the decision hours earlier, and not just for William. <em>Sherlock</em>, she dutifully corrects in her head.</p><p>She hails a cab from Tavistock Square to Harley Street and tries not to think about the fact that she hadn't been invited to stay at Baker Street instead of a hotel, though she'd called John to tell him she was in town. Her son-in-law has always been civil with her, supportive of her attempts to maintain a good relationship with Sherlock, but even John has acted more distant lately. George had stayed with them for several weeks when he was receiving his radiation treatments, which is why the fact that she is never invited in feels like a punishment. She still doesn't quite understand her son's needs to impose all these new rules upon their interactions. She doubts John is behind all this — John has always been sensible, so that leaves either some particularly extended whim of William's or that therapist's influence. Violet had not been able to get out of that psychiatrist much of an explanation as to why, after shunning all such help for so long, Sherlock is suddenly attending therapy. Is it a good thing? Violet has a niggling fear that there is blame for supposed transgressions being passed around, and much of it is being allocated to her.</p><p>After all, that's what the school and all of the professionals did, more or less subtly, all those years ago. They didn't think she could help her son or that she could handle him. It was obvious the village school was detrimental to his well-being, but home-schooling was so new back then, and one of the therapists had the gall to suggest she'd never be able to make him focus enough since she wasn't a trained professional. That's why they recommended he be removed and taken somewhere else, perhaps even some live-in school or institution for severely disabled children. The dolt of a headmaster at the village school had even insinuated that Violet wasn't being very realistic about her son's chances of making it through elementary school. Why couldn't they see that William never did those disruptive things in class out of malice? There was never any telling what could upset him, disturb him, or overwhelm him. They never even tried to anticipate what he would find difficult. They didn't <em>care</em>, and that hurt Violet just as much as it must have her son. That people who had dedicated their entire lives to education didn't think her child was worthy of it. She knew better. George might have been willing to outsource Sherlock's education to people who wouldn't see what he was capable of, but Violet was adamant. She's always known he is highly intelligent; it was just a case of working around the distractions that the poor boy had to deal with. Even though she was scared to try to oversee his early education, the alternative was just too horrible to contemplate.</p><p>She doesn't know why she has decided to attend Doctor Pichler's group session tonight. She doesn't know what she's looking for, or if she's even looking for anything; there had simply been something about the idea that had made her curious. She has not met many other parents of autistic children. There were none in North Chailey. She wonders if things have changed — if the life of such families is easier now.</p><p><br/>
____________________</p><p> </p><p>Sitting in the circle are six women besides Violet and the psychiatrist. Though Violet is much older than the other participants, Doctor Pichler introduces her simply by her first name, explaining that they like to keep things informal. The psychiatrist doesn't specify whether she is to join the group or even if she has children on the Spectrum. Violet is surprised only to receive empathetic nods and hellos from the group instead of inquiries as to who exactly she is. Surely, quite intimate details of people's lives are discussed here that some anonymity might be helpful, but she feels like an intruder.</p><p>Perhaps it's because these women trust Doctor Pichler that they so readily accept her.</p><p>She still doubts whether this assembly has anything to offer her. After all, her son is a grown man now.</p><p>Doctor Pichler asks each member to share new developments in their lives since they had last gathered. The first mother, Yvonne, is struggling with organising the school runs of her autistic daughter, her neurotypical son and getting to work on time. Violet learns that Thea, her youngest, deals very badly with new people and that's why Yvonne, a single mother with a high-powered law career, is having to chauffeur her.</p><p>Doctor Pichler clears her throat. "As we have agreed many times, practical solutions are as important as support. As I recall, Janet here has had some problems with school transport, too, and found some ways to help her Jimmy deal with it. Maybe afterwards the two of you could brainstorm together?"</p><p>"Yeah, that'd be… that'd be good," Yvonne replies. She is dressed neatly, in a very similar style as Violet, and clearly has had her children somewhere in her late thirties. "I really am at my wit's end, trying to balance their needs with my job."</p><p><em>I had to abandon my career for over a decade for William</em>, Violet nearly says. <em>And I often felt like a single parent</em>.</p><p>Doctor Pichler then encourages the next woman to bring the group up to date. She is a tired-looking, thirty-something redhead with a coffee stain on her worn jeans. She doesn't state her name for the benefit of Violet.</p><p>"Nothing new 'ere," she sighs. "Still don't know if them meds are helping. He's still a total menace at nights. Just look at the bags under my eyes! Last night, I catched 'im sneaking out of the flat again; 'e said 'e were bored. It was all I could do to stop giving 'im a right wallop across the head. I mean, I'd <em>never</em>, but it's––" she shakes her head. "We don't live in a safe area and where would 'e even go at that hour?!"</p><p>There are empathetic nods all around.</p><p>"Peculiar sleeping patterns are a common feature in ASD," Doctor Pichler confirms. "Have you found anything that helps?"</p><p>Violet thinks the woman's grating, messy South London accent fits with her clothing.</p><p>"I give him 'is meds earlier in the evenin' so I can get a moment to myself. But 'e just wakes up at five, then, and if I don't come up with things to do 'e's just going to upend everything in the kitchen cabinets or something."</p><p><em>William often didn't sleep at all when he was stressed out</em>, Violet remembers. <em>I remember staying up with him for four bloody days after we moved to the village. I was at my wit's end, totally exhausted, and George was no help at all. One night, I got so mad I smacked him,</em> she nearly says. She had been terribly afraid that someone would find out and alert the child protective services even though back then, smacking wasn't the issue it's become today.<em> It just happened</em>. She was so tired and frustrated, and George just kept telling her to leave William be. How could she, when he could have done just about anything alone at night, including climbing out of a window and breaking his neck? <em>No sense of danger, not ever</em>.</p><p>"Moses is at his Dad's this week," interjects one of the women. Violet thinks it's likely she is of Caribbean descent. "Totally feckless, that man. He lets him do what he wants, and he comes home all keyed up and in a sugar high. The next two days I'll be lucky not to get a call from school."</p><p>The woman left of her looks like she's about to burst from excitement. The contrast to most of the other attendees is stark. "I'm Charlotte!" she tells Violet sunnily, but before Violet can offer a suitable reply, she bursts into her news: "Eleanora got into DLD College London!" she announces. "She wanted to go there for the music program but didn't want to declare special circumstances. I thought she was taking a big risk with the application, but <em>they wanted her</em>!"</p><p>Violet makes a note of her choice of words: <em>wanted her</em>. She suddenly remembers what it had felt like when Will––<em>Sherlock</em> was accepted to Harrow and then later to Cambridge. Finally, someone had recognised what Violet had seen: that if her son got the right encouragement — if someone dared to push him far enough — he could succeed, could find a career that suited him. She still fears that the medical path he eventually chose on his own is a way of pain, but he keeps insisting that he's happy. Seeing him in that documentary, operating on that young man with a brain tumour… it had been extraordinary. Violet still doesn't know what to make of it. She had made George watch the rerun with him. '<em>He was always a bright boy,</em>' had been George's comment afterwards. <em>'It appears he's become a very good surgeon</em>.' Violet still isn't sure what a very good surgeon means in her husband's books, but surely, the BBC would not have chosen someone who was found lacking in any significant area? And, there's always John — he looks after Sherlock both at work and at home. John would have made sure Sherlock wouldn't end up looking like an idiot in a TV programme.</p><p>That's why Violet worries about the new job: for at least two days a week, John's not there. At least Stella Wolfson, who she had called last week, had been able to put her mind at ease: the work at GOSH seems to be going well. Violet wonders whether Sherlock will ever volunteer any information about it, perhaps realising that when he'd shown her the video of the surgery, it had helped her understand more about him. She hopes so.</p><p>If there had been a round of congratulations for Charlotte's news, Violet had missed them because she'd been so lost in thought.</p><p>"Emma?" Doctor Pichler asks, addressing a thin, pale, young blond woman sitting close to the door. She has stuck her hands into her cardigan pockets. "How are you doing this week?"</p><p>"I'm with Joe again. It's good for me, I guess, but he's useless with Julie. He told me the other day I should stop wasting money on all the autism stuff, that she'll grow out of it, that it's just a fad to fatten therapists' pockets."</p><p>"<em>Is</em> he good for you, if he's useless like that?" Moses' mother asks. She lifts her gaze to the ceiling, gritting her teeth. "Why's it always us? The men just leave us to it, tell us it's because we're so bloody good at it. Whatever progress I ever think I make with Moses, my ex just undermines it."</p><p><em>George was never really any help</em>, <em>either</em>, Violet thinks. <em>In fact, </em><em>he just told me exactly that — that I was doing a good job — and left it all to me</em>. <em>He worked, and I tried to respect that, give him peace and quiet in the evenings</em>.<em> One of us had to work to keep the roof over our heads. Had he been the one to stay at home with William, I don't know where we'd be.</em></p><p>"That's a very good theme we could focus on today," Doctor Pichler says. "Spousal support, or lack thereof."</p><p>"What about support in general?" Moses' mother asks. "Our head teacher's useless, too. The classroom assistant's got her hands full helping a deaf student, so Moses doesn't get the one-to-one focus he needs. I'm sorry for the other kid, but mine has needs, too, and left to himself, he probably won't even learn how to read. The headmistress says it's not cost-effective to have two classroom assistants. Sometimes I wish Mo was disruptive; then they'd <em>have </em>to do something, but he's just quiet and zones out completely."</p><p>"William eventually refused to talk at school," Violet suddenly says; the words are out of her mouth before she even realises. Doctor Pichler hadn't told her she couldn't participate, but she had simply assumed she was here just to listen. "George — my husband and William's father — wasn't any help; he was willing to just do what we were advised by several experts, which was to put him in some horrid special needs school. In fact, George worried about me spending all my time on William. '<em>It's no life for either of you,</em>' he told me as though there was a choice there I could have made. All I wanted was for the school to try to understand, to try to help him a little but nobody understood even as much as I did about what was going on in my son's head. Back in my day, there were no such things as what you are calling classroom assistants. The teachers weren't convinced at all that my son should even be in a normal school, that he could ever amount to anything. How could I believe that? How could anyone believe that about their own child, to just give up like that?"</p><p>The room is quiet, but all other pairs of eyes in the room are on her. None of the women looks in any way surprised, shocked or disapproving. Instead, in all of them, resigned sympathy and recognition are evident.</p><p>Violet looks at her knees. "If my husband had been in charge, William might have ended up in care, and it would have been such a criminal waste." It shocks her to admit this, even to herself, let alone a crowd of strangers, but listening to the others has made her realise the truth. "I fought for him, but he is not willing to see that."</p><p>Jules' mother speaks up. "It's impossible to predict what'll happen in the future, and people tend to assume that if someone's ASD, then they won't be able to cope with much of anything. All those old books and movies and maybe some kid that someone's grandparents knew who didn't even talk — all that made people shove these kids away and assume that trying to get them to manage like the rest of us is just too much hassle for a very uncertain result." She nods towards Moses' mother. "They think that it's not <em>cost-effective</em> to try to help someone who doesn't function like the rest of us, is it? Christ."</p><p>Emma looks devastated, now, sniffling even. "Joe told me to put Jules in a residential care home. That's why I kicked him out the last time. The nearest one is more than a hundred miles away, up in Buckinghamshire. I hate that he got me to even google that."</p><p>"He doesn't get to make that decision for you and Julie," Doctor Pichler says. "You shouldn't feel guilty for exploring options presented to you; it's the responsible thing to do to."</p><p>Emma looks miserable. "I can't change the way people will treat her what they assume she is like when they hear the word autistic. When Joe says things like that… sometimes I wish… sometimes I wish I hadn't had her, for both our sakes." She bursts into tears.</p><p>Violet's breath hitches in her throat. She's never really heard anyone say such a thing out loud, but she understands very well how a mother of might give in to frustration and fear like that. She's had some dark nights of the soul herself.</p><p>Jules' mother drapes an arm across Emma's shoulder, and they take a moment to allow the younger woman to collect herself.</p><p>Violet looks away from the circle, emotions threatening to take over. She remembers feeling terribly guilty so many times when things with Sherlock were difficult, for thinking that they should have stopped after Mycroft, that everything would have been fine with just one child. That she'd been greedy and got punished for it. That she should have realised one agreeable child was as much as she and George could handle. Worse still, she feared that, by deciding to have William, she'd doomed the boy to a life hardly worth living if she failed in fighting to get him everything that other children had. <em>People are so prejudiced</em>. There was no one all those years ago to whom she could have admitted such thoughts out loud and feel accepted. She had felt so terrible, so undeserving, so cruel. Yet now, hearing Emma say such a thing because she's tired, stressed and worried, feels so, so understandable. So <em>human</em>.</p><p>"Trust what you know," Violet tells the younger woman. "If you don't think it would be any good for — Julie, wasn't it? — to be in a place like that, then nobody gets to tell you otherwise. A mother just <em>knows</em>."</p><p>"I hate her sometimes and then hate myself," Emma says and more tears break out. "And think that she should have had someone else as a Mum, someone who knows what the fuck they're doing."</p><p>"Nobody does," Charlotte says quietly. "I never do."</p><p>"I rarely felt as if I knew what to do with William, and the so-called experts were not very helpful, either. You're going to hate some of the things your child does, but when it's a good day you're going to love that child so much, and it's going to make up for everything," Violet says. "One day, you're going to look at her and not even comprehend how you could have done so well that she got to where she is."</p><p>"I never thought I'd even dream of Eleanora doing her A-levels," Charlotte points out.</p><p>Emma wipes her eyes on her stretched, thin cotton sleeves. "Jules is the best thing that's happened to me, and the worst, at the same time. You said it well," she nods at Violet, "I never hate her, just the things she does even when I know she doesn't do them deliberately."</p><p>There are nods around the circle.</p><p>"It's not a choice you made, becoming the parent of a special needs child and yes, it's going to be very hard, but trying to hide the negative feelings and feeling guilty for them is not going to help," Doctor Pichler says. "That's why we're here — to talk about things you can't easily talk about with your spouses and families and colleagues — or your children."</p><p>Moses' Mum has turned in her seat to face Violet. She is smiling. "It's nice to have someone your age here because a lot of us with young kids feel like it's a life sentence looking after them. How far did your son get in normal school?"</p><p>"He went to university — medical school, that is, and has a PhD," Violet says, and can't help a swell of pride. Sherlock would tell her, in that rude manner of his, that she shouldn't take credit for things she had opposed — such as his career — but she still deserves the right to feel proud of him, <em>all </em>of him. "He's thirty-five now, and he's a neurosurgeon."</p><p>"Fuck me," the South London woman breathes out in disbelief. "That's… whoa."</p><p>"I invited Violet to join us tonight because thirty years ago, she never had the benefit of knowing other parents in the same situation," Doctor Pichler explains. "Support wasn't really available from schools, especially not in rural areas, and the NHS hadn't even accepted the diagnosis. There were no specific benefits offered for ASD children, even if they had been diagnosed. More intense therapy had to be self-funded, and many of the methods back then would now be regarded as outdated or harmful, even."</p><p>The psychiatrist's words are kind, but to Violet, they do not seem not entirely truthful. What these women have just shared… Violet suddenly feels they are owed a bit more honesty. "I'm here because my son doesn't think we are getting along very well at the moment. Communication issues…"</p><p>She is not surprised at the curiosity that can now be felt rippling in the room.</p><p>"Do you agree?" Emma asks, "that you don't get along?"</p><p>"If that is what he has decided, then it's not up to me to decide differently, is it?" Violet asks.</p><p>"And 'e's a <em>surgeon</em>?" the South Londoner asks, still incredulous.</p><p>"Yes. A consultant neurosurgeon at King's College Hospital and lives here in London with his husband."</p><p>"He's <em>married</em>?" Moses' mother asks. It sounds as though she thinks this is even more astounding that Sherlock's profession. "Clearly, you did <em>something</em> right," she jokes.</p><p>"He doesn't think so," Violet dismisses and pushes her handbag under her seat with her foot. "My son-in-law, John, is an anaesthetist. They work together. In fact, that's where they met, at King's College when my son was still a trainee."</p><p>"Violet's son sought reconciliation by inviting her to join one of his therapy sessions. I believe there may be more?" Doctor Pichler prompts.</p><p>"I don't know," Violet says primly. "We didn't discuss it after the last session. I don't know how useful he considered our first meeting. Communication issues, remember?"</p><p>The psychiatrist smiles. "He called me yesterday to book another joint session and requested that I pass the information to you."</p><p>Violet snorts. "Very typical of him to just book it and assume I would have nothing on at that time, and make other people pass on the message. Some things never change." She rolls her eyes.</p><p>There is a ripple of shared amusement in the rest of the group, before.</p><p>Doctor Pichler shifts her attention to the rest of the group. "Now, we should get back to our topic at hand. Spousal support and how to make it happen."</p><p>Violet leans forward. Perhaps it's never too late to pick up some pointers.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Trust</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Bloody great," John mutters under his breath while standing by his office desk leafing through his calendar just before leaving for the day. "Just what this day needed."</p><p>He has just received an email from the anaesthetist working for the dental clinic Sherlock frequents about a need to reschedule his appointment. John's next few weeks are hell with lots of meetings, frequent call shifts and a Trust audit he cannot miss, and the new appointment time coincides with a week when he has many of King's anaesthetists away in an AAGBI annual scientific meeting. John doesn't want to try to find an alternate service provider because Sherlock has developed a good rapport with Jennifer Mayle, the anaesthetist who had joined forces with John two years prior to devise a sedation regime that would spare Sherlock from having to undergo general anaesthesia every time he needed dental work done. Jennifer is working for several dental clinics and is in high demand. Making appointments with her are a challenge to start with. John knows he will have to sort this out, one way or the other. Sherlock needs someone with him when he goes in and afterwards when he heads home to make sure he gets safely into a cab and doesn't walk into any lampposts.</p><p>He takes up the subject of the schedule change with Sherlock when they meet up at the staff garage and begin the drive home. His husband is on his tablet, as usual, brows knit together as his fingers tap dance on the screen.</p><p>"Jennifer emailed to reschedule your check-up and oral hygienist," starts John, as he steers the SUV out of the garage.</p><p>"I know; I'm responding to her right now."</p><p>"Hold on," John prompts urgently. "I can't make it on the seventeenth."</p><p>Sherlock taps something, then stops typing; presumably, he has fired off the email. "I'm aware since our calendars are synced. I checked with Edgar, and he's available."</p><p>There's a red light as John prepares to turn to Caldecot Road which allows him to look at his partner, confounded. "Edgar?"</p><p>Sherlock turns down the sun visor; it's a bright enough day that John had slipped on his sunglasses for the drive. "You know perfectly well who that is. Unless we need to book <em>you</em> in for a dementia test."</p><p>"No, but I mean––" John presses down the gas pedal, "What's Edgar got to do with this?</p><p>"He could accompany me since no medical skills are required."</p><p>"You'd be willing to go with him?" <em>But I always go with you</em>, John wants to argue. Sherlock doesn't exactly like people knowing that he can't manage even a regular dental check-up without heavy, meticulously tailored sedation. Granted, Edgar had already stepped in when he'd had that terrible cold, but this… this feels different to John.</p><p>"I can easily self-administer the intranasal dex as I leave King's for the clinic, and Jennifer handles the rest. All Edgar needs to do is hail a cab and escort me home," reasons Sherlock.</p><p>John opens his mouth to protest just as their route takes them into the roundabout connecting Flodden Road with Denmark Road, but realises that Sherlock is right. He also realises that when he goes in with Sherlock's, it's not the patient who's on hot coals but John. He might even be willing to admit he has a tendency to try to micromanage Jennifer and to ask her obvious things repeatedly to make sure everything important has been taken into account. Sherlock is healthy, he has normal airway anatomy, and Jennifer knows how he behaves under sedation and GA. She's an experienced anaesthetist — more experienced than John when it comes to dental stuff. The clinic wouldn't release any patient until they were recovered enough to be accompanied by a layperson, so there's no reason why John needs to be present if Sherlock isn't insisting on him as the accompanying adult. If Sherlock trusts Edgar, John knows he ought to do so as well. <em>It's Sherlock's decision, not mine</em>.</p><p>Objectively, John doesn't need to be there. So why does the thought still feel so insurmountably impossible to accept?</p><p>"Edgar needs a good briefing," John says firmly. "He does need to understand the medical side of things — to know what's to be expected."</p><p>"I will email him instructions."</p><p>"No," John says quicker and more harshly than he had intended. "You don't know everything since you're hardly coherent during most of the proceedings."</p><p>Sherlock's eyes narrow indignantly. "I was a part of the drug regime planning process. You may be the anaesthetist here, but there is nothing lacking in my pharmacological knowledge base. Edgar doesn't need to understand those details, just what is expected of him."</p><p>"But––" John huffs.</p><p>"This isn't really about Edgar's competence; Doctor Pichler said as much. This is about <em>your</em> <em>territory</em> <em>being invaded</em>. You're jealous," Sherlock accuses with a superiorly amused upward twitch of his lip.</p><p>"That's preposterous," John says and grips the wheel hard with both hands. "I'm not <em>jealous</em>."</p><p>"I don't mean that in some plebeianly romantic manner––" Sherlock scrambles to explain.</p><p>John cuts in. "I just want to make sure everything goes without a hitch."</p><p>"I'm sure Jennifer would be relieved to be spared your over-bearance. You have often accused me of professional egotism when it appears you are not immune to it, either. You just don't want to trust me in the hands of anyone else, do you?"</p><p>"I had no trouble trusting you in the hands of Laura or Jonas who sedated you for your halo refit."</p><p>Jonas Hewitt is one of the anaesthesia consultants at King's. While John had been able to get away with sedating Sherlock for the first halo installation in the middle of the night, the second one had happened during office hours so there had been no way people wouldn't have noticed he was treating a family member against GMC regulations. Laura Arthur is a King's traumatologist who'd chosen the halo vest as a treatment for Sherlock's neck vertebra fracture.</p><p>"And you didn't pace just outside the OR door that whole time?" Sherlock asks, crossing his arms on his chest on top of his seatbelt.</p><p>"Nope," John says, popping his P in imitation of his husband. He'd paced the floor of the OR floor break room, but Sherlock isn't to know that. Ever.</p><p>"I have no need for your overprotective streak. I'll be <em>fine</em>," Sherlock informs him.</p><p>John focuses on driving — both because rush hour traffic in London is no laughing matter and because he needs a moment to work out how to verbalise his still lingering concerns. He knows they're mostly irrational and so does Sherlock but being aware of that does not banish those worries.</p><p>It's just… it's just that John knows what extraordinary strain dental appointments put on Sherlock's sensory processing issues. Sherlock has formidable skills in controlling his anxiety, but those skills fall short of even putting up with the simpler things that don't bother the average dental patient much or at all such as the feel and taste of gloved fingers in his mouth, the non-electric instruments scraping against enamel, and everything about the electric ones. When they were still going through the trial-and-error phase of trying to find a sedative regime which wouldn't depress breathing but would help enough with the anxiety, John got to witness the risks of the anxiety getting too much very suddenly.</p><p><em>'He bit them all until they were willing to send him to the hospital to be put under properly,' </em>Sherlock's mother had reminisced to John when the topic had come up. Turns out that Sherlock's instinctive panic reaction to an invasion of his oral cavity is still clamping his jaws shut and tearing out of the chair like a bat out of hell, no matter what instruments are still hanging from his mouth. Before John had even been out of his chair, and Jennifer had had time to react, Sherlock had scrambled out of the chair, groggy as he was from all the midazolam and the nitrous oxide. He had ended up on all fours on the floor, hyperventilating a bit and then thrown up on John's shoes when he'd tried to help him to his very shaky feet. His sensory processing becoming overwhelmed messes with his sense of balance, causing vertigo and nausea. The halo rig had been hell in that regard for the first few weeks. Both Sherlock and his mother had told John that he reacts atypically to many benzodiazepines. Instead of calming him like they do most people, lorazepam had given him a panic attack and hallucinations and, as they had learned that afternoon, midazolam wasn't much better. That horrible appointment is something John does not want repeated, and he's sure Sherlock, the dentist and Jennifer share his sentiment.</p><p>Nowadays, Sherlock gets a sturdy dose of dexmedetomidine into his nose about forty-five minutes before the appointment, which turns down the spigots of his stress hormones and causes a drowsy but respiratorily uncompromised sedation. This is then followed by intravenous low-dose propofol, two anti-nausea medications and nitrous oxide. There's no need for intubation or general anaesthesia; Sherlock simply rests about two hours after at the clinic, after which John takes him home. In the cab, he usually snores against John's shoulder — surely that's not a part of Edgar's job description? — but can be roused for the transition from the kerb to their flat upstairs. He's disoriented but able to walk, and John simply marches him into the bedroom, helps him discard his clothes, shoves him into bed, covers him with a blanket and lets him sleep off the rest of the residual effects.</p><p>"You're not… embarrassed, are you?" John asks carefully. "To let Edgar see all of it?"</p><p>"Are you insinuating I should be?" Sherlock's tone is wary in a way John knows to associate with his brittle confidence. He doesn't want to be seen as weak, different, deficient or in need of help. John's help used to be the only type he'd accept, and even that begrudgingly. Being willing to talk to a therapist about his ASD had been a huge step forward, and allowing Edgar to participate in this speaks volumes about Sherlock's confidence in the PA's abilities.</p><p>"No, of course, you shouldn't be embarrassed. I just thought…"</p><p>"I was the one to suggest Edgar could take over your sentry duties," Sherlock reminds him.</p><p>John licks his lips nervously, leaning forward to peer at the sky since they're stopped at yet another red light; the weather is changing, and he wants to hurry home before it might rain. "When I got shot, you dropped everything at a moment's notice to come to me in Afghanistan. Why?"</p><p>Despite the change of subject, Sherlock goes with him on this enough to answer. "It felt like the proper thing to do. Mycroft having made the arrangements signalled as such."</p><p>"Any other reasons?"</p><p>"I wanted to make sure the care you were receiving was the best available."</p><p>"You said not <em>'the best under the circumstances'</em> but the best, period. That's exactly why I want to be the one to look after you."</p><p>"Edgar is very competent."</p><p>"It's not the same, and you would have told me this about any staff member at Bastion."</p><p>"I couldn't know how competent they were."</p><p>John parks behind Baker Street in the designated spot of the alleyway that Mrs Hudson has graciously allocated to them. "Look, it's… I want you to manage on your own; you know I do. But I know why some things are particularly hard for you. Edgar is competent, Jennifer's great, but it's <em>you</em>, and this is <em>me</em>, and I want to be the one who's with you when you're anxious or scared. It's my thing. I want to be with you when you're happy and sad and hell, even when you're being the worst menace in England. I just… I've had to let someone carve themselves a space in what used to be just us." <em>Do I want to draw a line here, or is it more important to respect Sherlock's judgement?</em></p><p>"Edgar isn't here to take your place. There isn't an infinite amount of free time in our lives. As I have pointed out many times, he helps us have more time free of pointless logistics and chores."</p><p>John removes the key from the ignition. "I know. He's great, but <em>I'm</em> your husband. I… I just… I just want to hear it from you that you'd rather it was me."</p><p>"That's rather petty of you. Of course, I would prefer you."</p><p>"It's not <em>petty</em>, Sherlock. Maybe I could use a bit of reassurance every once in a while."</p><p>"Doctor Pichler did say the same."</p><p>"Oh." It grates a bit, knowledge of Sherlock discussing such things, but John reminds himself of how much help the psychiatrist has been for both of them. "I am kicking Edgar out the minute he brings you home, though."</p><p>"Are you planning on having your way with me when I'm in no state to resist your romantic offerings?" Sherlock teases.</p><p>"You never resist my romantic offerings, you git. I hardly need to have you drugged for a snog." Only Sherlock could joke about such a disturbing concept and make it sound entirely normal.</p><p>"I'll let you attend to me after, then — I'll make sure that Edgar knows to make himself scarce."</p><p>"No, no, don't–– don't <em>say</em> anything to him," John hastens to compel. "I don't know how weird he already thinks I am. He's your PA, and I've been all weird about him. It's not fair on the guy. He's helped you achieve a lot; hell, he knows how to help you in ways I never could work out."</p><p>"I like to think that by assisting me, he helps us both in the sense that he frees up your time and energy for being precisely what you told me you are and want to be — my husband."</p><p>"We're on the same page, then, I guess." <em>I still don't like it</em>.</p><p>"I couldn't quite follow your characteristically patchy and convoluted logic, but perhaps."</p><p>"Berk."</p><p> </p><p>__________________________<br/>
<br/>
</p><p> </p><p>On the day of Sherlock's appointment, John is still second-guessing the instructions he'd given Edgar. Or, rather, the instructions he and Edgar had agreed upon.</p><p>As it turns out, when it comes to Sherlock, trusting the man's safety in someone else's hands can make John as illogical as it makes him insecure.</p><p>Two days prior, John had suggested that he could take the Tube home and Edgar could chauffeur Sherlock in their own car.</p><p>"If you want me to be able to render my fullest assistance, wouldn't you be more worried about him alone in the backseat?" Edgar had rightfully asked in that piercing scrutiny of his. It had got more intense in the past months, and John suspects the younger man may have been taking lessons from the master.</p><p>"Yes, um, yeah, there is that." <em>Maybe I just don't want him drooling on your nice coat</em>, John had thought to himself, gritting his teeth as he had to admit he just didn't <em>want</em> Edgar there.</p><p>Sherlock had seemed ready for this. John isn't. But how to explain that to Edgar? <em>Rip off the plaster, Watson</em>. "I'm really happy about how well it's all worked out with your… working for Sherlock," he had stammered with a smile he hoped wasn't entirely plastic on his features as they had tea in the kitchen. Sherlock was in the bedroom, on the phone with his brother.</p><p>"Is there a but?" The ever-sensitive Edgar had instantly asked after hearing John's compliments.</p><p><em>Damn him</em>. "No," John had declared resolutely. "You'll meet him at the King's taxi rank at two, accompany him to the appointment, and bring him back in a cab afterwards. By the time you are finished at the clinic, I will be waiting for him at home," he said and cringed, when he realised how alike a schoolmistress just before an exam was due to start he sounded. "Before then, in case anything happens, I'll keep my phone on. I'll be in a meeting, but I'll keep it on."</p><p>"Of course," Edgar said hesitantly, and John hated that he didn't protest like he had grown to expect. Edgar had been clued into this being somehow as delicate as it was important, and John hated how discreet he was being. <em>Just give me a reason to call the whole thing off. </em></p><p>"I could still try to reschedule the dental treatment for a week when I'm not quite so tied up," John reminds himself more than Edgar.</p><p>"It's all fine, Doctor Watson. Leave it with me," Edgar intones. He calls John by his title often still.</p><p>In his afternoon meeting, which starts around the time Sherlock is leaving for the appointment, John finds it hard to concentrate on the discussion. He even becomes the source of mild amusement when the chairman of the Trust has to make an effort to get his attention.</p><p><em>Sherlock will be fine</em>, he tells himself. <em>He travels alone, survived a surprise visit to Afghanistan, he's a grown man with his own career and life and an assistant who probably came to earth from a neighbouring planet and whose organisational skills and Sherlock-reading put even me to shame.</em></p><p>He still keeps glancing at his phone, and is nearly startled when the screen flashes with an iMessage; he'd turned off notification sounds but kept the ringtone on.</p><p>
  <em>Appointment 15 mins underway. Dr Mayle reports things are going well. — E</em>
</p><p>John decides at this point that the poor bloke has been exposed to way too much Holmes — his texts are beginning to sound like Mycroft's. Relief and gratitude over nothing at all, really, wash over him and he decides to suggest to Sherlock that Edgar's job perks should absolutely include duty detox on a Caribbean beach somewhere at least once a year. Perhaps once a month, so John could have even more of Sherlock to himself. <em>And that's what this is about</em>, he decides, standing by the sitting room window at their flat. <em>I love him, and I want him to need me, not someone else</em>. And as soon as he realises that, John knows that he has got to get a grip. He knows he <em>can</em> step aside when need be and wants to get better at supporting Sherlock in doing whatever he wants with his career without undue scepticism about his husband's ability to decide when he is really needed. It has been flattering, deeply so, to be needed the way Sherlock needs him, but there has to be space for change. Before and after Afghanistan, John had thought that what he wanted the most was to be seen as his own person, separate from the shining celestial object that is Mister Sherlock Holmes, star neurosurgeon.</p><p>Now, Sherlock is truly reaching for the professional independence and confidence John has wanted to help him find right from the start — right from the very beginning when he'd told Sherlock that he believed the man could sort out his own messes. John doesn't want to stand in the way of that even when he feels uncomfortable letting go.  Maybe the key is to remember that even if things between them as physicians can now be less interdependent, at home, they're still them. There, masks can be dropped, facades taken down. There, he can need Sherlock and Sherlock can need him for not just the important things but even small, peculiar things that matter within the safety of their privacy.</p><p>Maybe Edgar's presence has been such a challenge because his role isn't just about Sherlock's professional life — it occasionally breaches the inner sanctum of their relationship, allows Edgar glimpses of the two of them outside of the images they deliberately project at work. John has always felt intimately privileged to be allowed to see all of the aspects of the real Sherlock: almost frighteningly emotionally bare when it comes to people he cares about, brittle in his confidence in himself when it's not about medical science; indulgent, wanton, clueless, adorable, funny, oddball and loyal and so expressively loving that it would put many other spouses to shame.</p><p>Before, John had believed that Sherlock was the one who had constructed a rather elaborate work persona, but trying to negotiate his way around Edgar's existence had made John face a truth he isn't fond of: he has a projection, too, and that constructed role features all his <em>best</em> sides. At home, in his private life, some of the worse bits can come out such as petty jealousy, impatience, anger and a possessive need to control. Therapy has helped with a lot of that, but maybe it's time for him to work, on his own, on some of those remaining bits which have caused recent friction in their marriage.</p><p>In contrast, what Sherlock tacks on to his doctor persona are his worst qualities. His best ones, it appears, are reserved almost solely for John at home.</p><p><em>I can do this</em>, John decides as he glances out the window just as a car pulls up to the kerb. He watches, clenching and unclenching his fist as he forces himself to stifle the compulsion to rush down and take over as Edgar exits the black Uber car and hies to the opposite door, then ducks in to help Sherlock out. Edgar is much shorter than the lanky, obviously still a bit unbalanced, curly-haired form scrambling out to stand on the kerb. Edgar hesitates not a bit in clasping his employer's arm firmly and resolutely as they slowly make their way to the door.</p><p>John is hardly any taller, but he sure as hell is stronger than the beanpole PA, so he finally allows himself to jog down the stairs.</p><p>"Hello, John," Edgar greets sunnily and drops the set of keys Sherlock had given him into his coat pocket. "I heard you coming down, so we waited."</p><p>Sherlock has been deposited into the chair next to Mrs Hudson's doily-covered table. His mien is always pale, but there is a slightly ashen tinge to it, and his eyes are closed, his left cheek leaning against the wall.</p><p>"How'd it go?" John asks.</p><p>"By my estimate, based on the parameters relayed by you and Doctor Mayle, I would say that nothing out of the ordinary happened."</p><p>"Shouldnnn breakfst," Sherlock mutters.</p><p>"Good, you're awake." When John had first glanced at him, he had looked as though he might just slump down and migrate into a heap on the floor. "Let's get you to bed."</p><p>"Contrecoup stasssments," Sherlock decides, blinking.</p><p>Edgar steps closer just as John does. "Do you want me to––" he asks, but John shakes his head before saying firmly, "I'll take it from here." Now, a smile spreads easily onto his features as he regards Edgar triumphantly. "You've done great. Thank you. I'll text you about his schedules tomorrow," he promises, feeling very charitable.</p><p>Edgar slips a hand into his coat pocket to lift his phone out just a bit so that John can see it. "We're synced, and we went through everything in the car before the appointment."</p><p>"'Course you did," John chuckles and leans down to wrap his arm around Sherlock. "Up you get."</p><p>He ignores Edgar's polite farewell and starts dragging the dead weight he's married to up the stairs. Sherlock's coordination is off, but at least his leg muscles work fine. John wouldn't want to fireman-carry him up with his still occasionally twinging shoulder and bad knee, anyway.</p><p>"What was that about breakfast?" he asks when he's got Sherlock sprawled safely on his back in the bedroom. He starts unlacing his shoes.</p><p>"Not shoul've had those cafeteria sandwishes."</p><p>"Nausea?"</p><p>"In the cab. In fact––" Sherlock suddenly twists his torso to the side as though trying to reach over the edge of the bed.</p><p>John is prepared. He grabs the wastepaper basket he'd emptied and shoved an empty Tesco bag into and helps Sherlock leans over the edge of the bed to retch into it. Nothing comes up but a bit of bile — he had refrained from eating for the requisite six hours before sedation, probably even more, since the appointment had been at three in the afternoon.</p><p>"Told you not to force breakfast on me. Those egg sandwiches were hideous." It appears that vomiting into the bin has helped to clear some of the remaining fog of sedation drugs from Sherlock's head.</p><p>"If you hadn't slept through the alarm and the three times I tried to get Your Nibs to rise and shine and have something at home, we wouldn't have had to resort to that cafeteria crap. And, haven't we established that your risk for nausea is worse if you've fasted the entire day and night before?</p><p>He gets a glare. Sherlock shoves away the bin and slumps back onto the bed, a sheen of cold sweat on his forehead. John kills the overhead light and takes over the other side of the bed, turning to his side so he can sling an arm across Sherlock's chest. They've often napped together after these appointments which come about yearly or semi-annually. Sherlock takes meticulous care of his teeth; John suspects that the bad memories of childhood dental appointments are quite a vicious motivator.</p><p>His thumb is stroking idly on Sherlock's arm; too lightly, it seems, since it brings forth a ticklish shudder. "Sorry," John offers, pressing harder.</p><p>Sherlock's reply is a tired hum. He closes his eyes again and grabs John's arm, readjusting it onto his stomach.</p><p>"Edgar did alright, hm?"</p><p>"Is that a question or your evaluation?" Sherlock asks.</p><p>"Both, I guess." John shoves his left hand under his pillow.</p><p>"Edgar has never failed to be adequate or above, but I still prefer you, if you're still in dire need of such acknowledgement."</p><p>"Don't be rude."</p><p>"Then don't be ridiculous. I would never have agreed to try going without GA if it wasn't for you."</p><p><em>I wouldn't subject myself to all that anxiety for anyone else</em> is what this means in Sherlock-speak, and it's what John hears loud and clear. "I don't want you to be uncomfortable because of me. That's not why I encourage you to do things."</p><p>"Not what I meant. You help messsee the potential gains of tolerating certain things, such as the company of your friends or avoiding the risks and potential effect of resp–– repeated general anaesthesia on long-term cognition. Although it's not really been proven very well in any other cohorts bessides the elderly, I would prefer to err on the side of cautery."</p><p>Appealing to Sherlock's intellect does always seem to work best. John reminds himself that before they met, Sherlock did manage — admittedly, sometimes quite badly — without his help. He's a genius who can find solutions to work around his particular challenges, but John can make things easier for him. Sherlock would probably insist that it's just because of practical matters––</p><p>"In the future, I would like Edgar to be a plan B for these things. I prefer you because isss you. "And wanting it to be you do––doesn't detract from my professional reputation, since no one who has anything to do with that is present," Sherlock slurs pointedly, and the tips of John's ears blush because once again  Sherlock has surprised him positively with his ability to slam some rather deep sentiment on the table despite his insistence that such things are frivolous nonsense. "We're not superheroes or machines," John reminds him. "We all have our fears and quirks and challenges."</p><p>"Some afussss more than others."</p><p>"And some of us who may have more challenges have also been graced with the brain of an era-defining genius as compensation. Right now, however, that brain needs to go offline for a while."</p><p>"Are you trying to get into my bed, Dr Watson?" Sherlock asks. "I should warn you I am in no state for your––"</p><p>"––romantic whatevers," John concludes with a chuckle. "Why is it that you're the most verbally talented person in any room, anywhere, even a bit off your tits, as long as the topic isn't sex?" Sherlock's pillow talk varies between cringe-inducingly anatomically correct and lustful brain short-circuit along the lines of <em>'John, do that thing where you–– you know, that thing!'</em></p><p>Sherlock slaps him gently in the general direction of his groin. "At least you can follow insssractions. Unsssurprising, considering your army shervice."</p><p>John's RAMC career is a topic often brought into any conversation pertaining to sex. He grins in the low light. His Sandhurst reunion is coming up in a few months, and the invitations should be arriving soon. He hopes that it's an open function and that Sherlock would be willing to join him for the weekend.</p><p>"Before you are out for the count, you should know I ordered in from Peking Palace," John says, "But it'll keep if you're still feeling icky."</p><p>"Not hungry right how, no."</p><p>"Then just sleep," John prompts, and reaches down to pull the duvet up to cover Sherlock up to his waist. Sherlock drags it higher, and John notices he's shivering a bit; anaesthesia drugs often mess with a person's body heat regulation. Sherlock always removes his suit jacket, often changes out of his dress shirt as well before having a nap but not after being sedated and certainly not if this groggy and nauseous. He'll be annoyed later if one of his precious suits gets crumpled, but right now, John decides for him that the priority is rest.</p><p>"Stay," Sherlock mutters. "You're warm," he adds and reaches for his husband.</p><p>John surrenders. The take-away can wait.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>— The End —</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Dr Watson &amp; Mr Holmes will return.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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